


An Age of Gold Flowing

by lighthouse



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, M/M, Missing Memories (?), Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Visions, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Time Shenanigans (?), Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 90,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse/pseuds/lighthouse
Summary: The Warrior of Light has done the Source a tremendous amount of good, but he is only one man, and perhaps over the course of his journey a very important cause may have passed by unnoticed. Bound to the Crystal Tower, the Exarch has suffered and toiled for more than a hundred years to see his dearest inspiration safe, to save two worlds.  Yet...what is his faith built upon if his inspiration was never there in the first place? And what is the Crystal Tower, that the Allags should have no record of its completion, that the people of the First should have no memory of its arrival?This is the story of my miqo'te Warrior of Light Evi'a Llyrhai's time on the First. This will loosely follow Shadowbringers, but there will be a number of divergences from the main plot that will likely increase as the story goes on.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 94
Kudos: 77





	1. Prologue--Arrival

“You have to send me back!” His panic was overwhelming, heightened by the sense of weightlessness and the sudden inability to feel his own hammering heart. Zenos’ katana had been mere ilms from his face, Alisaie was gone, how to calm one’s breathing when there was no breath--

“Please! There is no need for alarm,” the hooded figure beseeched, and the desperation in that oddly canted voice was what finally knocked a dent in the hysteria.

He listened to an infuriatingly calm spiel about all paths leading to destruction, but only halfway if he were honest, his frantic soul naturally seeking a reconnection with his body. There was something about a beacon at Syrcus Tower, and then he was in alive, in bed and in Aymeric’s blessedly calming presence.

Later, as he puttered about the Tower base trying out and discarding bric-a-brac in an attempt to find this ‘beacon’, he was struck by the oddest sense of nostalgia. He looked back fondly to the days before the Crystal Braves debacle, when he had more time to spend with the Scions and life wasn’t so complicated. There had been more dinners together then, spontaneous camping under the stars, and the Tower ever gently casting its light on the horizon. But then he’d apparently picked up the correct relic. The crystal beneath his feet hummed to life in tones that resonated welcome, there was that voice fairly growling in his mind, a pull deep within his ribcage, and then darkness strewn with bubbles of memory.

He had not expected…wherever he was going…to be so incandescently pastel and beautiful, like an illustration from a romantic fairy tale. And yet there was an unnatural heaviness to the aether, a quality that singed at the edges of his awareness, a faint scent of burning on the wind. Within the space of less than two bells he had stood in openmouthed awe of the flora, met a traveler on the road and then observed what remained of him, found that day was night, and met a formidable woman of a race he’d never encountered who seemed determined to deny him passage. Inexplicably, in the distance, the Syrcus Tower loomed in radiance, its reflected light sparkling over what appeared to be a fantastical city, beckoning to his adventurous heart.

It was a lot to take in, and Evi’a was still trying to process how he should be feeling about all this as the hooded figure from his vision made his presence known. Oh, did he have words for this fellow.

“Everything alright, Captain?” the figure asked, and Evi’a took a sharp breath as his anger was confusingly blunted by the sound of that voice. It wasn’t the same as the one that had summoned him, enhanced with aether as it had been. No, this was warm, and familiar, and he had a distinct inclination that he should know immediately who this person was. He felt the butterfly wings of the Echo flutter in his mind and steeled himself for the inevitable, but for once no vision took shape.

Disgruntled, all he could do was stand lashing his tail with the Echo-induced adrenaline spike, his ears flattened in frustration as he was granted the run of the city. It was an effort to remain courteous as he returned the Captain’s bow, and he couldn’t help pressing his mouth into a thin line when the (unexpectedly short) figure approached him.

“Come with me. I will answer whatever questions you have when we are somewhere more private,” he said, and Evi’a gave a curt nod. At least the man’s tone indicated that he understood his ‘guest’ was less than pleased.

He was relieved that he was allowed a few moments to gather his thoughts as he followed the figure down the path. _Come on Evi’a, get it together. You’ve got your bow, you’ve got your violin, you’ll be fine. And everyone is here, they have to be._ _You’ve been in far worse situations in far less welcoming lands._ Absently he reached up to touch his black floral hairpin, and was relieved to find it had also made the trip in one piece. So absorbed was he that when the man stopped he very nearly ran into him. Evi’a held onto his patience for as long as he could manage, but when he told that it was ‘a great relief’ that he made the trip safely, he lost the reins on his better judgement.

“You nearly killed me,” he interjected quietly, and the figure took an involuntary step back. Evi’a tilted his head in an attempt to look into the man’s eyes. He thought he saw, and yet the image just seemed to evade the grasp of his mind. It was extremely discomfiting. “That last time you spoke to me, I was fighting for my life. I would have been cloven in twain had an old friend not made a timely appearance.”

Evi’a did not know what he was expecting, but it was not the man’s dejected wilt, nor the stumbling words that followed.

“I…I must apologize. Cross world communication is quite difficult, as you can no doubt surmise…and once it begins, I fear I’m not skilled enough to be as…as aware of the situation as perhaps an actual mage might be,” he explained haltingly. Evi’a watched him wring his hands, notice his own actions, and quickly force his arms to his sides. “Please be assured, however, I’ve…we’ve long awaited your arrival, and every effort will be made to see that you and yours are well taken care of, though I understand such sentiments hardly mitigate what you’ve been through,” he finished softly.

As before, Evi’a felt his ire fade in the wake of overwhelming, unexplainable familiarity, and he felt sick with shame for giving in to his temper.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, his ears drooping as he scrubbed at his face with weariness. “I know I chose to come here when I heeded your plea to search for the beacon. My words were unbecoming, and any explanation as to what is going on here is most welcome.”

The man visibly perked up, and the bard couldn’t help but feel a little thawed by his expressive openness, even if it was odd juxtaposed with his hooded form and obvious concealment magicks. 

“Oh no, there is nothing to forgive! I realize that I have caused a great deal of trouble, and for that—among other things—I must again offer my own apologies,” he said, and he sounded so contrite and sincere that Evi’a was inclined to believe him despite his misgivings. He smiled tiredly to himself, wondering if Alphinaud would scold him…but then, Alphinaud was becoming more sentimental himself with each passing year.

“My companions, they’re here, aren’t they?” he asked, sounding a bit more plaintive than he’d intended.

“The simple answer is yes, and they are well enough, but as tends to be the case, the whole of the matter is rather complicated…but come, what manner of host harangues their guest in the middle of the road! Let us make our way, and I shall explain the situation in what depth as I may until we reach the more secure confines of my study.”

Relieved and bemused, Evi’a followed, and listened with a lighter heart as the Crystal Exarch introduced himself with affable humility and explained the nature of the First, as well as the plight it faced, and that the Exarch determined aid was needed from the Source in the form of its greatest hero. _Ah, so that’s what this is about,_ he thought, though truly he had expected no less. With that tentative return to familiar ground, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders finally begin to ebb away.

“You know,” the Keeper said as they came upon the paved road leading into the city proper, “…if you had just said you needed help to save a world, instead of all that gates and doom nonsense, I daresay I’d have come along more easily.” The Exarch paused with a start, and Evi’a immediately felt sorry again—he’d only meant a gentle tease, but from the man’s stricken body language he could tell his words had cut far deeper than he meant.

“I have been told that my…er…particular turn of phrase can be a bit much sometimes,” the Exarch awkwardly replied, “and under duress, I tend to draw solace from tales that have inspired me over the years, and the language that results might be too, ah…flowery for my own good,” he ended quietly.

“It’s okay, it’s done now,” Evi’a said quickly, raising his hands peaceably before him. “What is important is how we move on from here.” For whatever reason it made him intensely uncomfortable to see the man sad, and now he had already been hurtful twice within the last half bell. He could well imagine Alphinaud facepalming with exasperation were he to witness the exchange. The Exarch looked up with a rueful smile and shook his head with self-deprecation.

“I fear that despite my grandiose title I have a regrettable amount of shortcomings…that you might be willing to forgive my stumbling words is most appreciated,” he said with a sigh. “Believe me, it was never my intent to make this anymore trying than it had to be.”

“It’s fine, I’m not always the most eloquent myself, and my manners have failed me more than once today,” Evi’a answered with a chagrined smile, and looked expectantly beyond the Exarch to the bustling settlement. “I confess, despite the journey, I find myself very much looking forward to seeing this city of yours.” The man perked up again so quickly that the Keeper couldn’t help a chuff of amusement.

“Well then! I know other matters are pressing, but come along and I shall give you an abridged tour,” he said, and promptly turned on his heel and made off as though flustered by his own enthusiasm. He didn’t have much chance to look, but Evi’a could have sworn the man was blushing.

The tour itself was a bit of a whirlwind, and it could not have been more clear that the Exarch was immensely enjoying showing him around. His zeal and quick pace were infectious, and it was good to burn off some of the leftover nervous jitters from the trip. The continued failed flutterings of the Echo did not help, but Evi’a found himself soothed by the leader’s melodic voice as he flitted from one explanation to the next, vibrant and alight with pride in his people. 

He kept out of sight however when Evi’a spoke to the civic leaders, which the Keeper felt was something of a nice touch as they could give their thoughts without being influenced by their governor. Although the conversations were brief, it was quickly impressed upon him that the people were proud of their work, that the place was well run (if hard pressed), and that everyone thought very highly of the Exarch. Furthermore, every person he spoke to seemed courteous and even eager to answer his questions, to see to it that he was comfortable. When he raised the question to the Exarch about means of payment and quarters, he found the man ready with an on the spot fae contract and a thoughtfully furnished apartment. A table big enough to seat the Scions, ample space and supplies for cooking, a lovely view of the city and a comfortable bed—not gaudy and with plenty of space, just the way he liked it. By the time the tour concluded before the doors of the Tower, Evi’a was at a loss for words, so unexpectedly warmed was his heart after the day’s trials. It was hard to believe that the journey through the rift had been only perhaps six bells prior.

“I apologize that we haven’t time to be more thorough, but as you will find the Crystarium is full of twists and turns that will require some patient exploration to learn to navigate fully,” the Exarch explained as they climbed the stairs. Evi’a followed quietly behind, wondering at the return of the gentle crystalline hum beneath his feet. After a word with the guard the doors opened, and the smaller man swept into the glorious chamber beyond with such airy confidence that it was hard to reconcile with his earlier hand-wringing.

“I expect this looks somewhat different than when you went adventuring in the Crystal Tower on your world,” the Exarch called over his shoulder, the grin evident in his voice as he strode across the gilded floor to stand in front of a large aetherial mirror. “Cleaner and with fewer beasts to worry about, I daresay!”

“Oh, I never went to the Tower, save to find your beacon,” Evi’a said absently, trying not to gawp at the sheer scale and beauty of the room and suddenly acutely aware of how scruffy he must appear.

“…What?” the Exarch breathed, and Evi’a returned his full attention to the man to find him standing stock still, his lips parted with shock. 

“I’ve never been inside the Tower…”the Keeper answered hesitantly, alarmed to see that he was giving more cause for upset. “But clearly that’s my loss! It’s breathtaking, and frankly your city has been welcoming beyond anything I’ve ever experienced,” he continued, unsure where he’d gone wrong and anxious to make amends. 

“I…I see,” the Exarch said quietly, and there was an awkward silence before he seemed to suddenly snap back to attention. “Well,” he said briskly, “there’s no time like the present, I suppose! Now, on to the matter of your friends…” 

Despite the fact that learning about his companions was what his heart had most dearly yearned for, Evi’a couldn’t help but feel a little saddened by the Exarch’s sudden loss of enthusiasm and shift to businesslike formality.

\---

“How could this have happened…!” the Exarch mumbled to himself, throwing open the doors to the Umbilicus the moment the warrior departed. He rushed past stacks of tomes to where his calculations lie scattered about the floor and fell to his knees, ears pitched forward as he frantically scanned through the organized chaos for where he had made the mistake.

_Oh sweet Azeyma, did I summon an alternate timeline Evi’a? Or…or did I err on the timing?! Perhaps the Tycoon interfered somehow…_

His heart in his throat, he summoned his memories of his time with NOAH, when he and the Warrior of Light had explored the Tower’s mysteries together.

They were intact, in so much as they could be after hundreds of years, precious and safe. His hands shook as he rifled through his work, checking and double checking the meticulous preparations he had made to summon his dearest inspiration, his guiding light in the darkness.

Finally, he sat down and exhaled, his whole body unbearably heavy and his mind in a haze. _How could this be?_

There were no mistakes, nothing to indicate that the Evi’a who had finally…oh, finally…stood before him today was not his Evi’a. He had the same embarrassed smile, the same smell of cut wood and ginger, the same manner of holding his hands behind his back when he felt out of place or didn’t know what to say. He even still wore the meticulously wrought floral pins in his hair…and still reached to adjust them when he was upset. The Exarch had to woefully acknowledge that he had forgotten the man’s voice with the long years, but hearing Evi’a speak had very nearly broken his will to stay hidden, the joy of familiarity was so devastating. He clasped his hands in his lap, going over the possibilities.

Maybe Evi’a really had forgotten him. Honestly he had expected it to some degree…If one put together a list of all the people the Keeper had aided during his journey as the Warrior of Light, it would be malms long. In the grand scheme, where could G’raha Tia have hoped to stand, compared to all the leaders and warriors that Evi’a had befriended and fought alongside? He swallowed and choked back tears, abruptly ashamed of his self-pity. The Keeper was never a man to forget the people who loved him. There was a fair possibility that what had transpired between them meant less to Evi’a than it did to him, that Evi’a had quickly moved on…but he wouldn’t completely forget. And his friendship with G’raha aside, to fail to remember ever being in the Tower? It beggared belief.

The Exarch let out a shaky sigh, letting his head drop to rest in his hands. His calculations were well researched, painstaking, and the subject of much stress and heartache…Yet the Seeker knew well enough that he had gambled, that he had come up against the writhing pit of intersecting timelines and possibilities that was the rift and found himself infinitesimally meagre. Even so, he had taken his shot into the darkness, clinging desperately for guidance to the few precious strands of aether Evi’a had given him all those centuries ago, the day the gates slammed closed. He could not pretend to fully understand how he had managed the feat of bringing Evi’a to the First, only that it was done and nothing short of miraculous. If he had destroyed some of Evi’a’s memories on the way…well…all he had was his life to give in atonement, and he had intended to do that from the beginning. If it was their precious history that was lost, he would bear that pain, even if it smothered him—he deserved no less, and so, so many lives depended on this venture’s success.

And if somehow Evi’a’s foray into the Tower had been truly erased, then _everything_ was going to unravel, and no amount of sacrifice on the Exarch’s part would ever suffice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Sorin for looking over this for me!


	2. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evi'a reunites with the twins and in turn begins to understand the plight of the First. He also finds himself with more of a connection to the Exarch than he'd guessed.

Evi’a longed to see Alphinaud awake and safe so much that his chest ached, and though he was normally pleased enough to do odd jobs for people, it was an effort not to show his impatience when he was sent to kill vermin just for the right to sit in a tavern and wait for the man. Still, he did as he was asked, and he didn’t complain (where anyone could hear him)…though he did wish he had something to occupy his time while he sat sipping at his tepid water and staring a hole in the shack’s door.

After what felt an age, his dearest friend made his appearance, and Evi’a schooled himself into not jumping to his feet by just taking him in as he spoke to the barkeep. Alphinaud had grown even more while on his forays into imperial territory, and he now stood at least head and shoulders over the Keeper. He looked uncharacteristically mussed in the garb and colors of the road, his hair longer in a loose plait down his back. Their eyes finally met, and he barely noticed the proprietor leave as they purposefully crossed the room together and fell into a backbreaking hug.

“By the Twelve, Evi’a, I’m so sorry,” Alphinaud whispered, having to stoop down to reach him. “I was wrong to have left the way I did.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, pulling back. _Ah, he knows, doesn’t he._ “You had all of our blessings to go.”

“I never should have asked, not when I knew you were…not in a good place. I…there were moments when I thought I would never see you again, and I knew I’d never forgive myself leaving like that…” He sounded near to weeping, and Evi’a reached up to squeeze his shoulders.

“Shockingly, the world does not revolve around me, my friend. You did good work, and I daresay you know it. You’re made for that kind of work, I’d never have forgiven myself if I’d stopped you,” he said firmly, craning his head to look the scholar in the eyes. “Gods, I forgot how tall you are.”

“Taller than you at least! Though still on the short end for an elezen,” he groused, fiddling with his braid. The Keeper gave a weak smile and sighed, turning his eyes to the floor.

“Alisaie spoke to you, didn’t she? About…about what happened after you left.”

“Spoke? She gave me the scolding of a lifetime. It went on for days, I am not exaggerating. I can only be thankful that she was sometimes distracted with scolding the Exarch instead,” he answered amiably.

“Did she?” Evi’a asked, distracted and delighted with imagining the scene. He’d always loved her moxie.

“Plenty. I rather felt sorry for the man. But I would hear of you! It feels a lifetime since last we spoke,” the elezen exclaimed, eyes sparkling. It was warming and welcome to be reminded that he had family who cared for him, and the Keeper could feel a weight that he hadn’t realized he was carrying melt away.

As it turned out Alphinaud had been lent a hovel of his own for his many services to Stilltide, and though it was only one room with a packed dirt floor and very modest means, Evi’a could tell that he was proud of his abode. It was very neatly kept, save a scattering of books and notes on the rugged little desk the scholar used for his studies. He was impressed when the elezen showed off his makeshift cooling pit (a lesson learned long ago from Estinien) from which Alphinaud produced some lovely dried fish, a few firm yellow apples, and a small bottle of wildberry wine he’d been saving. Over this simple repast they took turns telling stories of their journeys until the Keeper began to nod off, the drink going to his head and still not quite over the effects of the rift jump.

“Come on old friend, sleeping at the table makes for poor manners and an aching back. You can have the bed for the night, it’s been quite the few days for you it would seem,” Alphinaud offered genially, rising to clear the dishes.

“Rubbish, I’m not taking your bed, I’ll use my sleeping bag like a respectable adventurer,” he sniffed, ambling across the room to get set up.

“Suit yourself, stubborn arse,” the elezen sighed. “Probably about the same experience anyway. At any rate, with you here I daresay we’ll be busy in the coming days, and you’d best rest while you may.”

The next morning (at least, he assumed it was morning), Evi’a wakened to the sound of eggs being cracked against the side of a pan. Blearily he opened his eyes, and was greeted with the rare domestic sight of Alphinaud preparing breakfast, his ruby carbuncle sitting patiently at his feet hoping for scraps.

“You don’t actually want this, you know,” the elezen scolded, dropping an eggshell on the floor for the creature to sniff as he moved on to wash some rather lumpy tomatoes. The Keeper knew there was an absolutely sappy smile on his face, and he had no desire to hide it…it was so good to see the elezen happy and none the worse for wear for his time on the First. The younger man must have sensed that he was being watched as he turned to briefly acknowledge the Keeper with a half smile.

“Good morning, I was wondering when you’d wake,” he said softly, and went about taking the kettle off the fire for the tea. Evi’a took his time to stretch with relish, then pushed himself up and padded past the table to inspect the scholar’s work.

“Since when do you cook?” he asked, leaning against the counter and eyeing the watery egg with a raised brow.

“Since I started living by myself, and if you’re looking to be useful, you can make our tea and have a seat. There’s not much space in here.” Evi’a grumbled good-naturedly and set about to doing as he was asked.

Oh!” he remembered, halfway to dropping the tea leaves in the pot. “I brought some tea for you, the yearly Gridanian Chestnut blend. Mother Miounne sends her regards.” Alphinaud gave a snort of laughter.

“Packing to go to another world and you waste space for tea,” he chided. “But I shan’t complain! I have missed seasonal teas…and seasons in general, come to mention. Let’s have that instead, shall we? And…my thanks, by the way. For thinking of me.” Evi’a gave a contented hum in reply, and before long, he was sat half dozing at the table with his cup—a cracked mud-colored thing—as the scholar went about his morning tasks. After a while the carbuncle gave up on the food and pranced over to hop onto the Keeper’s lap, where it made itself at home with a pleased chitter. Evi’a smiled and scratched at its fluffy ears.

“Oh yes,” he said presently, tail flicking as he watched the elezen keenly, “I forgot to mention there’s a ghost in my room back at the Crystarium.” As expected the scholar froze, then turned to fix him with a deadpan stare.

“A ghost.”

“Yes, he’s the Warrior of Darkness that we fought before, only he was this world’s Warrior of Light, remember. His name’s Ardbert. Seems a good man, as ghosts go.” Alphinaud eyed him shrewdly.

“You’re not being facetious.”

“No, not at all.”

“There’s a ghost in your room, and somehow this didn’t seem important enough for you to even mention last night?”

“Well, I was tired, and I wanted to hear about your journey as well.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the elezen finally asked. “You were the only one among us pulled bodily from Eorzea, perhaps there’s been some ill effects,” he said pensively, a touch of worry creeping into his voice. Evi’a frowned.

“I’m pretty sure I’m alright. That is, I feel well enough, it’s not as though I hit my head or anything.”

“Hmm, stranger things have happened, I suppose,” Alphinaud replied, clearly not completely convinced. “I hope you don’t expect me round your quarters for anything then,” he declared, and turned back to his cooking. Evi’a snickered.

“Ah, come on, don’t be like that. Anyway I only think he comes out when I’m by myself.” He stopped for a moment to consider. “Come to think of it though, the Echo has been acting...oddly. At least, it did while I was in the Crystarium…seems to be better out here.”

“What do you mean by oddly?” Alphinaud asked, pausing in the middle of raking scrambled eggs onto his plate.

“It’s as though it wants to show me a vision, but stops just before it can get there. Mostly…mostly around the Exarch, come to think of it. Maybe something to do with his concealment magicks?” he mused thoughtfully.

“I’m afraid I don’t know enough of the Echo or the Exarch’s magicks to be able to speculate,” the scholar said with a frown, finally bringing their plates to the table. It was a simple breakfast of chopped roasted tomatoes, eggs, and more dried fish, but to Evi’a it was as a piece of heaven. He jolted back to the present when he realized Alphinaud was speaking.

“—and I don’t think he’d mean to hurt you,” the elezen was finishing.

“What now?”

“I said, the Exarch is clearly fond of you and I can’t imagine he would cause you intentional harm.”

“Clearly fond, you say?” Evi’a asked, perking up his ears. “By the way, the food looks good, you’ve made progress after all.” Alphinaud nodded his thanks and sighed.

“He has been courteous and kind near to a fault with us, but you should see the way he lights up when he speaks of you. He must be beside himself to have you here.”

“He…did seem quite enthusiastic to show me around the Crystarium,” Evi’a admitted around a mouthful of pleasantly charred tomato, “…but I was, er…under some duress, and I may not have made the best impression.” The elezen narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

“Evi’a. What did you say this time?”

“Okay, admittedly, I lost my temper a bit…you can’t know what it was like to see you all just dropping like that, and I was trying help Alisaie keep her head up, and then she…” he swallowed, realizing that he was rambling, and passed a bit of egg to the carbuncle in his lap to stall for time. “…I did apologize for that, and I think he accepted well enough, but then I told him I’d never been to the Tower save to find his beacon…and he just, I don’t know, shut himself off in the space of a heartbeat. I think I really upset him,” the Keeper finished unhappily. 

“Curious,” Alphinaud said thoughtfully, finally helping himself to his own breakfast. “I daresay though, he’s unlike to stay upset with you long, as much as he’s been waiting for you, and considering he needs your help.”

“It’s the oddest thing, but I feel like I know who he is…no, more than that…part of me was pleased to see him. Like an old friend? I’m sure I recognize his voice, but the realization is just out of reach, and it’s driving me to distraction.” Evi’a sighed and chewed pensively on a bit of fish. Alphinaud studied him, his expression unreadable.

“Well,” he said at length, “…there is certainly something going on with time and space when it comes to him pulling the Tower here. Perhaps the same thing has happened to you?” He grimaced and shook his head. “But again, it’s just speculation, so I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What do you make of him?” Evi’a asked after a few minutes of comfortable quiet, pushing his empty plate back and returning to his tea. “The Exarch, I mean.” The elezen cocked his head and considered his answer for a while before he spoke.

“For the year I’ve known him, he’s given no reason for us to suspect any ill will. And yet, there are a number of qualities that seem at odds. He is obviously a talented mage…and yet, somehow, he failed to summon you five times, and from what I’ve heard, accidentally loosed some terribly dangerous creatures from the Tower that still prowl the lands unchecked.” He raised an eyebrow at Evi’a. “No doubt you’ll be asked to deal with that eventually.” The Keeper shrugged.

“Ah well, that’s the sort of thing I do anyway. Bit of a surprise though, coming from him. Anything else? Come to think, have you ever seen his face?”

“No, he is very particular about hiding himself with that hood and has, as you’ve noted, remarkable concealment magicks. And yet at the same time…he is an absolute open book. I don’t think the man could lie effectively if he tried. He shows that openness to his people at well...takes time to read to children in the Cabinet, makes rounds in the market just to chat, joins the guard sometimes for archery,” Alphinaud listed off, then paused, furrowing his brow. “Did he tell you the full story as to why he needs you to fight, what we’re up against here?”

“Well, I just assumed he meant me to fight off whatever is causing all this light. But…possibly because I was short with him before…I think he meant for me to meet you and your sister so that you could vouch for him before he attempted to explain any further,” Evi’a answered sheepishly, his ears low. Alphinaud gave a sputter of laughter.

“How very cynical! But I don’t think he believes Alisaie will speak favorably of him, my friend. It’s more likely that he wants you to understand the plight faced by the people of the First before he begins to ask for favors. It’s…quite decent of him, honestly. I’ve no doubt if you heard the full story from him that you would have agreed to fight, but he is going out of his way to make sure you understand and are willing. We are on limited time, and therefore this is not a sentiment he can afford,” Alphinaud mused thoughtfully, outlining as much to himself as to Evi’a. The Keeper mulled this for a moment, then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, his jaw set.

“I’m going to find out who he is,” he announced, “if it kills me. You watch me.”

“Oh, Evi’a, do at least attempt to think carefully before you act,” Alphinaud said anxiously. “There are insights into our presence here that the other Scions are more equipped than I to relate to you, and ever so much is at stake.”

Despite only spending the space of two days and a night in the Crystarium, the reprehensible apathy and suffering propagated by city of Eulmore made Evi’a long desperately for the friendlier settlement and his tasteful quarters therein. It was a mark of his long friendship with Alphinaud that the younger man had been able to stay his fury with this “Lord Vauthry” with a simple gesture. At least the elezen had summed up both their feelings, albeit in a much more satisfying and eloquently insulting manner than Evi’a ever would have managed. Frankly, he couldn’t believe they’d been allowed to leave without a fight, and the return to the Crystarium found them both collapsing from overwrought exhaustion as soon as they reached the Pendants. 

There was no time for rest, however. Having seen the situation in Eulmore, Evi’a found himself sick with worry for his other companions, and genuine concern for the people of the First was already worming its way into his heart. Amh Araeng was the next destination on the list, and while he dreaded what he would find there, he was also eager to be on his way. He knew Alisaie to be resourceful and strong, but he also knew that she tended to get in over her head, and that she was not at her best when she was summoned away. He desperately wanted to see her safe with his own eyes. 

He had thought to ask Alphinaud to accompany him, but it was obvious the next morning that the scholar was still exhausted. Besides that, he found himself wanting some time alone with her to make sure she was well, without her feeling the need to sass and posture for her brother.

So it was that he packed his bag quietly in the morning, and went next door to wake Alphinaud and say his goodbyes.

“Go with care Evi’a, and put a smile on her face—she has missed you dearly. Take your ghost with you too, if you please,” the elezen mumbled, then waved the Keeper out the door and on his way to the Ocular.

Within moments of his entry, the Exarch emerged from another chamber within, robed and hooded as always.

“Well, I am told that you and Alphinaud managed to carry out his scheme to infiltrate Eulmore. I’d ask for your opinion of the place, but I doubt you want to relive that experience,” he said with distaste, sweeping across the floor to stand in front of his mirror. “Am I right to believe that you are here to seek aid in your reunion with Alisaie?”

“That’s right,” Evi’a answered, his ears pricked forward. He hoped the Exarch would take it as eagerness, and in part it was, but he was also doing his best to take in every detail about the man that he could now that he was less addled by the duress of the trip across the rift. The Echo whispered across his consciousness, and for once the Keeper prayed that it might take form and give him something, anything, to go on.

But still no luck, and the best Evi’a could manage was to study the Exarch’s crystal arm carefully as the man was distracted with pulling a rather bulky envelope out of his robes. Despite the limb appearing to be fully crystallized, it didn’t appear be a hindrance at all, and Evi’a found himself marveling for longer than intended at the flowing gold lines, wondering if the crystal were warm, which hand he used to loose his bowstring…

“Ah, this,” the Exarch said, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice as he held out his crystallized arm for Evi’a to see. “The necessary price for being the caretaker of the Tower, I’m afraid, but I’m grateful for that which it has allowed me to accomplish.”

“Seven hells, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” Evi’a winced, clasping his hands behind his back with embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t concern yourself! It’s perfectly healthy to be curious about the unknown,” the Exarch answered kindly.

“Listen…” the Keeper began awkwardly, scrubbing a hand through his hair…which dragged out his red pansy hairpin and sent it clattering to the floor at the Exarch’s feet. Both of them bent for it at the same time, and Evi’a jerked aside just in time to keep them from bumping heads.

“Sorry!” they exclaimed together, and the Exarch laughed—was that nervously?—as he held out his spoken hand with Evi’a’s pin. Evi’a reached out with a hand that he wished was more steady to take it back.

That smell. The smell of ancient books and orange peels, spilled ink and bergamot, underpinned with the unmistakable musk of a miqo’te in his prime. It was so familiar it stole his breath away, and Evi’a took a step forward before he knew what he was doing. _You’re miqo’te! I know you, I’m sure of it…_

He was so close to saying it out loud, it was on the tip of his tongue…but something in the man’s stance, wavering between anguish and caution, stopped him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, his fingers curling around the pin, his heart pounding.

“I…thank you for getting that for me,” he floundered, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Of course, it was nothing,” the Exarch replied quickly, and it did little for Evi’a’s rabbiting heart to note that the man was just as flustered as he was. They stared at each other, and as the silence grew overlong Evi’a knew he had to salvage the situation before he did or said something foolish.

“Ah, about Alisaie—“

“Right!” the Exarch replied with a little jump, and held out a vellum envelope sealed with red wax. “This is a letter of introduction to one Cassard, a traveling merchant. None know the roads of Amh Araeng better than he, and he can be trusted to grant you safe passage to Mord Souq. From there you should be able to find your way to her.” Evi’a took it and turned it over in his hands, eager for a distraction. The Crystarium seal was elegant and simple, and he was surprised to find the missive quite heavy.

“What did you put in here? Payment?” he asked, tucking the envelope away into his jacket.

“A voebertite honor, to be precise, and it is payment of a sort. I daresay its use shall become clear to you soon enough,” the Exarch answered, having somewhat recomposed himself. Evi’a smiled.

“You really don’t like giving straight answers, do you?” he asked amiably, then realized with drooping ears that his words might be misconstrued as criticism. To his relief however, the smaller miqo’te tilted his head to the side with a smile of his own and gave a shrug.

“Old habit, I’m afraid. When you arrive on a dying world out of nowhere and proceed to summon a massive tower, you learn to give information in acceptable increments…or not at all…to prevent undue distress.” He looked away for a bit, then back to Evi’a with a sigh. “In truth, I would be honored to explain to you the details of the situation in Amh Araeng, but I would prefer you saw with your own eyes and formed your own conclusions, without my insights framing your judgement. Beyond that, you should have the opportunity to witness firsthand the resourcefulness of the people of the First…I daresay you will find that experience far more beneficial than any lacking explanation I could provide.” Evi’a stared at him, trying to make sense of how he felt and landing on grateful. Touched, even. _So Alphinaud was right…_

“I appreciate that,” he answered sincerely, wishing he could look the man in the eyes. “It’s not often that those seeking my aid actually care about what I think.” The Exarch gave a sad smile.

“I fear that if you do choose to take up arms for us, the path will be…fraught. I would not have you walk it without being certain unto your soul that the cause is worthy and just.”

It was hard sometimes to feel that his affections were so simply won, to be known as a man who made most of his important decisions based on instinct and gut feelings. Even so, in that moment Evi’a knew that despite the incongruencies, the secrets, the fluttering Echo…despite all these things, at this early junction the Exarch had already won his trust.

It came as no surprise to him that Alisaie should be out on patrol when he arrived at the Inn at Journey’s Head to search for her—she had never been the sort to sit idle if she could help it. He rather enjoyed the solitary pursuit of tracking her down, and when he came upon her in the midst of a fight with a prowling sin eater, he declined to join the fray in favor of perching on a nearby dune to watch her at work.

Obviously, in her time away she had pursued her martial studies with a vengeance. Where Alphinaud tended to be graceful and calculating in battle—barring the occasional faceplant—Alisaie was ever a force of nature and wild caprice. Evi’a still found it hard to believe that she’d chosen to be a red mage, with the profession’s constant demands of balance and forethought. Perhaps it was a wise choice, however, as it forced her to think and plan where she usually would not. Never one to choose the easy path, that woman.

And yet, when the sand finally settled with her quarry at her feet and she set her eyes upon him, Evi’a could easily see the love and gentleness in her nature writ on her face.

“There you are,” she murmured, as though she’d naturally been expecting him. It was all the warning he had before she launched into him with a hug so fierce they spun around, laughing with the joy of finding one another safe and whole.

“Oh gods, it’s good to see you!” she cried, pulling back to inspect him. “When I left you, right after asking you not to leave me alone, gods…”

“It’s okay, I’m fine, and it’s not as though you did it on purpose!” he replied, looking her over was well. “Sweet Menphina, you could give X’Rhun Tia a run for his gil!”

“Haha, flattery will get you nowhere,” she warned, reaching down to tousle his hair. “Tell me you’ve met my fool brother by now and given him what for!”

“Er, not so much? I was happy to see him.” She groaned and sighed theatrically.

“Well, as I was sure you wouldn’t bring yourself to do so I chewed his arse up one side and down the other for you.” He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Aye, that’s what he said. But what of you, how are you? I admit I had my reservations when I heard you were patrolling alone, but clearly I need not have worried!”

“I…I’m well as may be,” she faltered. “I’d be lying if I said this year wasn’t a struggle. If you came to find me, I expect you’ve been to the Inn?”

“Only briefly,” he allowed, eyeing her with concern.

“Ah. Unfortunately, now is not the best time to dally and swap stories. Help me finish up my patrol, and I’ll tell you of the Inn as we go.”

As it turned out, the Inn was a place of abject misery, baking and leaden with the sweet stench of sickness and death. That Alisaie, who took loss so poorly, should choose to be stationed here amongst such unmitigable suffering, where even children had to be poisoned as a kindness… He was humbled and felt guilty to admit to himself that after just two days of aiding with culling sin eaters, the place was weighing on him. Even with the friendship and optimistic perseverance of the lead caretaker Tesleen, he wondered how Alisaie could possibly be coping.

So it was that on the evening of the second day he climbed the ridge above the Inn to sit peaceably beside her against the warm sandstone as she took the night watch, a ragged makeshift canopy protecting them from the blazing light. He’d always been able to talk to her easily, and as the conversation rose and fell into peaceful silences, he felt his world righted that much more. He told her about the seasonal apple and chestnut tarts at her favorite Gridanian cafe, and she regaled him about a wine she’d had too much of in Mord Souq when she first arrived, which he was to try at his earliest opportunity. They talked about her fledgling archery skills, and his inability to manage his own balance as he learned how to red mage.

“I know I should have practiced my archery more,” she said at length, resting her chin on her knees, “…but I felt so terrible about leaving you like that, I just thought…I just wanted to be ready to fight beside you again, when you did return. I figured I stood a far better chance at doing so as a red mage.” 

“I never doubted you’d be ready to fight,” he said affably, mirroring her posture. “But I confess, I’m surprised to find you living in a place like this.”

“These people need help…to think that they’ve been thrown out and left alone to die, I…” She swallowed. “And it’s a right hellscape to train in, there’s that too.”

“I can see how that would be,” he answered quietly. “Just, you need to think of yourself too, you know?”

“Tesleen has been a dear friend to me,” she replied by way of answer.. “I’m grateful to her, honestly…I wasn’t so well when I first came here, but watching her motivate the other caretakers with that earnest positivity of hers as the days went on inspired me, picked me up again. It was hard to forgive myself leaving you like that, hard to feel so weak,” she ended in a whisper, blinking back tears.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reiterated firmly. “It does me well just to see you safe.”

“Aye, it wasn’t my fault, but understanding something logically and feeling it are different things.” She sighed, leaning back against the stone as she surveyed the horizon. “And as it turned out venting my ire on the Exarch did little in the way of use or satisfying my guilt, and so one thing led to another and I ended up out here…on his advice, no less, infuriating as that is,” she huffed.

“I don’t think he meant to cause such trouble...when I spoke to him, I had the impression that the failed summons were hard on him as well. In any case, I’m grateful to have you all here with me, if I’m to fight…” he gestured at the sky, “…whatever the cause of all this might be.” She peered at him with narrowed eyes, her body language so alike to her brother that he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve already forgiven the Exarch summoning us, haven’t you?” she asked with a flat expression. He thought about it, flicking his tail.

“Yes, I suppose I have,” he replied, a little surprised with himself.

“Ugh,” she groused. “Seven hells, Evi’a.”

“I know, I know,” he acknowledged sheepishly. “But I’m not going to accomplish anything second-guessing myself.”

“Well,” she remarked, shifting to lean against him, “Luckily you have myself and Alphinaud to ask the pressing questions when needed. I daresay we’ll balance out in the end.”

“We usually do,” he agreed, resting his head against her arm.

“Evi’a? I’m sorry you didn’t get to go home and rest like you wanted, that you missed seeing your kits,” she murmured beside him. “We’ll look after you though. Perhaps we can start with trying to have dinners together like we used to.” He took in a shaky breath, grateful that she couldn’t see him trying to smooth out his stupid crumpling face.

“I’d like that. There’s a sturdy oven and a lovely dining table in my room back at the Crystarium…I’d be delighted to cook for you lot again, when we have time,” he answered haltingly, giving her shoulder a head bunt for emphasis. “And I’ll look after you too, as much as I may and you’ll allow.”

He could never have known how soon he would come up against the unforgiving reality of the First, that he would find himself unable to do anything beyond look on in horror as his dear sister stood beside him and once again had her heart viciously broken.

The next day was one of the most trying of his life as he wavered between staying close enough to her to be of comfort and yet understanding enough to know when to give her the privacy to grieve. Left to his own devices, he didn’t know what to do with himself but pace like a caged animal, trying to process the terror of what he’d seen, his utter powerlessness as he’d watched it happen, and his inability to do nothing more in the meantime than offer the solace of being present if needed. He longed to take over Alisaie’s patrol while she wept in Tesleen’s tent, to see as many of these creatures fall to his arrows as possible…and then he remembered that sin eaters used to be people, and felt such empathy and disgust that he was nearly ill. No, he was not of a sound mind to patrol alone, and he was not going to call Alphinaud and plague the elezen with his woes. And so more pacing, even if it was unbecoming.

It was shaming how relieved he was when Alisaie reappeared in the early bells of the evening, eyes swollen and face pale, to announce that she could no longer stay at the Inn, that her abilities would be put to better use at his side. He had no doubt that they would be returning at some point, and in fact he hoped they would, once they were in a better position to offer aid. For now though he was more than ready to quit the place, and it was some measure of comfort that they could simply aetheryte back to the Crystarium and save themselves what would have been a trip overshadowed with miserable silence.

Once they arrived, she was quick to pull up the hood of her traveling cloak, her expression hard and closed. Still, she took the arm he offered, and they walked together to her room in the Pendants, just next door to his own as it turned out.

“Do you need anything?” he asked softly as she fumbled with the lock on her door. He knew better than to ask if she were okay.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, turning to him as her door creaked open. “Could you…would you mind reporting to the Exarch for me?” she asked, her voice so raspy his chest ached.

“Of course, get some rest. Mind if I come check on you later?” She sighed and gifted him with a weak smile.

“That…would be appreciated. Probably.” She looked away, and then stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug—which he promptly returned—that lasted several moments. “Thank you,” she whispered, then pulled away and quietly disappeared into her room.

Perhaps sensing his distraught twin’s presence, Alphinaud emerged from his quarters and looked from the Keeper to his sister’s closed door, eyebrows knit with open worry.

Shortly they were sat side by side at the table, the elezen’s expression growing more and more aghast as Evi’a explained what happened in fits and starts, until finally the younger man rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.

“Thaliak preserve her, that such suffering should constantly be thrust upon her is…”Alphinaud trailed off, shaking his head. “I hope you know this isn’t your fault,” he added quietly, voice muffled by his hands.

“Aye, I know,” he answered, not convincing even to himself. Alphinaud straightened up and looked him firmly in the eyes.

“Evi’a.”

“I know, truly,” he replied. “I’ve been blessed in ways that others might dream of, but even I can’t do everything, and to think otherwise would be arrogance,” he rattled off. He scrubbed his hands over his face, full of fickle energy that he didn’t know what to do with. “Knowing that doesn’t make it easier.”

“I can appreciate that,” Alphinaud answered calmly, talented as ever at compartmentalizing his feelings. “But if the Exarch is to be believed, there _is_ a means for you to fight this, and I imagine now would be as good a time as any to have him present you with your potential courses of action.”

“Did he ever tell any of you? Exactly what it is he means me to do,” Evi’a asked, already feeling bolstered by the scholar’s practicality. Action would be good, anything but sitting in these rooms dwelling on his shortcomings.

“Not the full details, at least, not to me…The person who has the foremost right to be privy to that information is you. As much as it pains me, I have the distinct feeling that this will be something that only you can do, something akin to fighting primals,” he said darkly. “But I swear to you, every step that I may fight alongside you, I will.” 

“And I would have you there,” Evi’a answered in thanks, giving the elezen a gentle bunt to the shoulder. They were quiet for a while with renewed appreciation at being alive, at having at least part of their small family reunited. Eventually, Evi’a stood, his jaw set with determination. “I think it’s time I spoke to the Exarch.” Alphinaud rose as well and nodded somberly.

“I believe I’ll wait a bell or so and then bring Alisaie some tea, and perhaps some soup if she’ll have it. That’s where I’ll be if you’re looking for me upon your return.”

The Exarch waved away the image of Evi’a leaving his room and rested his forehead against the cool viewing glass with a heavy sigh. Oft had the guilt of erroneously tearing the Keeper’s companions from their lives eaten at his heart, kept him from what little sleep he might have had. He had never intended to bring them to the First such that the grief of their troubles would push Evi’a to fight, never meant for Evi’a to see such horror befall a woman he loved as family. And yet, what had the Exarch expected Alisaie would experience in her time at Amh Araeng? Even after all these years, that he could still be blinded by his ideals, so naïve…!

And he couldn’t deny that it was terribly bittersweet to see Evi’a so casually friendly with the twins. He hadn’t missed the intricately carved pendants they wore—lilies and a rapier for Alisaie, carbuncle and astroscope for Alphinaud—without question gifts from the Keeper. Beyond that, in the tales he’d read of the bard’s feats, one of them was ever present at his side. On the one hand, it was warming to see that Evi’a had found some measure of happiness, a supportive family to look after him, and he wished them well. On the other…well. Best not to dwell on what could never come to be. After all, he was the one who turned his back on Evi’a, not the other way around…supposing he’d ever met Evi’a in the first place. Shuddering, he willed himself not to dwell on that either. 

Still, despite years of imagining scenarios with the Keeper and how he might effectively respond to them, he found himself wholly unprepared for what it felt like to be ever-aware of the man’s presence, to feel his aether grown from a distant, light hum in the Tower to a constant nuzzling softness against his very soul. What he would not give just to sit and _talk_ to the man, lay bare everything and stand next to him on even ground, to fight _together_ instead of offer cryptic insights from within the confines of the Tower.

But he felt the Keeper approaching, and grimacing he turned from the mirror, pinned his ears, and pulled up his hood. He was righted and as neutral as he could manage by the time the doors swung open to reveal his inspiration, already weary and careworn after just over a fortnight on the First.

“I would speak with you of what I saw in Amh Araeng,” he announced without preamble, tail lashing as he strode purposefully across the gilded floor. The Exarch gripped at his staff, willing himself steady. Gods, it had been so long since he’d beheld Evi’a’s confidence, and he was swiftly finding that the walls he’d built to keep himself aloof in the Keeper’s presence were in fact built on sand. On top of that he was not in the best frame of mind to deal with this tonight, but he had to try.

“Yes, I daresay you found little to celebrate in Amh Araeng,” he responded gravely. “I have knowledge of what came to pass…you needn’t relive it on my account.”

“Well, that was fast,” the Keeper replied with surprise, already derailed from his purpose. “Did the Inn send word ahead of us?”

The Exarch stared at him, his heart giving an uncomfortable jolt. _It’s a simple question, just_ _say yes, you must confirm and move on!_

“…I’m afraid not,” he found himself answering, unable to lie and more the fool for it. Even wrapped around his waist, his tail fluffed with alarm and agitation. It should have been so easy to lie and move on, but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t cover everything, he wasn’t strong enough. Sweet Azeyma, if he were going to be lacking, better here where Evi’a could concentrate his ire on one man rather than in other areas of the overall plan. The bard was frowning, clearly waiting for further explanation, and he supposed he’d best get on with it.

“This mirror,” he indicated, turning to face it so that he wouldn’t have to see Evi’a’s disgust, “…aside from being a tool of summoning, is of a particular aetherial persuasion. If I focus the energies of the Tower with a location in mind, generally it will allow a bird’s eye view of anywhere on Norvrandt, and sometimes beyond to the Source, if I’ve focused correctly.”

“…So you were watching me,” Evi’a said behind him, his tone unreadable. The Exarch closed his eyes.

“At times, yes.”

“Why?” It was unfair that such a simply stated question should have such a multi-layered, complicated, and daunting answer. Also, he knew he had to face the Keeper to respond, to take responsibility like a decent man. Shamed though he was, and afraid, he would not hang his head.

“As it happens, a byproduct of the summoning is that my soul touches those whom I’ve called, which naturally creates a minimal link. You being my intended target and my only truly successful summon has resulted in that link being…rather stronger in you than that of your companions. Therefore, should you be in some danger, it is like that I would be aware. Seeing as I’m the one who called you all here, intentionally or not, I bear a certain responsibility toward your safety.” he explained carefully. “Ah, granted, it does not give me the ability to render immediate aid, but depending on the situation it is my hope that I might be able to respond in a helpful manner. Unfortunately…there was nothing to be done for dear Tesleen, gods have mercy on her soul.” Evi’a stared at him intently, his tail swishing from side to side. It took a monumental effort to stand tall and wait.

“Are you saying…you bonded with me on accident?” he asked slowly, cocking his head to the side.

“The simple answer is yes, but it has nothing near the depth of an intentional bond. The emotion would have to be extreme for me to feel anything,” he clarified. It wasn’t the entire truth, but this was not the time for Evi’a to know about that, and if the Keeper had never been to the Tower as he claimed…well, now was not the time to ponder that particular quandary.

“Hmm. Would I…this being the case, would it give me, say, false memories?” he asked, clearly unsure of how to word what he wanted to say.

“False memories?” the Exarch exclaimed with shock, before he could stop himself. “Whatever do you mean?” Evi’a shook his head with frustration.

“No, that’s not right, something more like…Hm. Do I know you?” he finally asked, with the air of a man who had been waiting to ask this particular question. Luckily, the Exarch had spent about a century steeling himself for exactly this, and while his heart wasn’t nearly as composed as he’d hoped, the response rolled out with practiced ease.

“Know me? I’m afraid not, prior to our meeting before the gates of the Crystarium. My condition as caretaker of the Tower prevents me from straying far beyond Lakeland for very long, so visiting other worlds is well out of the question,” he said, feigning affable amusement. _Oh gods, what now, why would he recognize me if he never--_

“Ah,” Evi’a broke into his panicked thoughts, his ears drooping, “I see. Forgive me, it was a foolish question.” Dear Twelve, it was heartbreaking, and the Exarch knew he was reaching his limit for being in the presence of his dearest hero.

“It’s a perfectly valid question, considering the unwelcome news that you’ve had a bond, however minor, placed on you without consent,” he acquiesced, attempting to school his thoughts. “What I did was wrong, and one day, I swear to you I will pay for that misdeed.” To his surprise, the Keeper gave a half shake of his head and waved away his answer.

“No, that’s fine, I’m not so concerned,” he said distractedly.

“F-fine?” the Exarch spluttered with incredulous disbelief. Evi’a blinked and seemed to come back to himself a bit.

“Well, clearly the summoning was difficult, or you wouldn’t have failed it so many times. Makes sense there’d be side effects,” he said with a shrug.

“Er…” he stated eloquently, at a loss for words. 

“It’s not as though I do anything that I need to hide,” he continued matter of factly, then pinned his ears back a touch. “Just, don’t watch me in my room, right? That would be…creepy, now that I think on it.”

“O-of course!” he exclaimed, glad that the Keeper could not see the blush he knew was climbing his cheeks…especially since he had just done exactly what the Keeper requested he refrain from doing. “It was never my intent to use it for untoward purposes, I can assure you!”

To his further surprise, Evi’a laughed, and it was so like the Evi’a he remembered that tears came to his eyes. Suddenly he felt very, very tired.

“Forgive me, it’s good to find I can still smile, considering the events of the week,” the bard trailed off, studying him intently. “Listen, I’m going to fight for this world…I’ve decided and there’s no going back on it, no matter what. If I have it in me to fight this, I will never forgive myself if I don’t,” he stated resolutely.

“At this early junction?” the Exarch found himself whispering. “Evi’a, you still haven’t met the rest of your companions, and there is more to this than you yet—“

“No, I’ve decided,” he repeated stubbornly. “But you’ve got to tell me what it is I need to do, and…and don’t be duplicitous about it. I realize I’m not always the most clever man, but I’d like to think I’m at least worthy of the truth,” he ended quietly, looking away and down to the floor. The Exarch swallowed at a traitorous lump in his throat. _If I have to be duplicitous to spare you, then that is what I will be, old friend._

“If that is your decision, then all Norvrandt will thank you for it. And as for the truth…I shall endeavor to give it to you as best as I am able, but I fear I must also implore your forgiveness if I am not always as forthcoming as you might wish. It may not appear so, but I am a very old man with many…difficult and painful memories, and there are times when holding my knowledge close is the only way I can cope well enough to move forward. I can only pray that you’ll forgive me my shortcomings, and know that they are no reflection on the esteem in which I hold your character.” He didn’t realize he’d been looking at the floor himself until his eyes rose and found the Keeper regarding him with what could only be described as tenderness.

“I can understand that sentiment, and my thanks for your openness,” he murmured, a bashful smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “but I have to ask, are you _truly_ an old man?” 

“Yes, quite so I’m afraid,” he answered ruefully, uncertain why this particular detail would be the sticking point.

“Hmm. I had the impression you were…” The Keeper stopped himself and shook his head. “Sorry, don’t mind me, my sense of smell might just be muddled with the light’s scent.” The Exarch let out a puff of air, searching for words and coming up dry. The space between himself and the Keeper was so close, and yet felt so far. “I uh…I came to ask how you meant me to fight, but actually…I’ve got enough to think about for tonight,” Evi’a continued, raking a hand through his hair—and minding his pin, this time. “May I come back tomorrow, perhaps with Alphinaud and Alisaie, if she’s up to it?”

“Of course!” he answered, perhaps too quickly. “Please, rest. It’s been a trying week.”

“It has,” the bard muttered, turning to leave…and then back to the Exarch again, ears twitching. “It’s straightforward, I hope, the thing I need to do?” The Exarch tried to hide his frown at the tinge of desperation in Evi’a’s question.

“I believe it to be, at least,” he replied reluctantly.

“I just need to track down and fight something?” he pressed further.

“Ah, well, that’s the idea, I suppose, if you wanted to frame it simply, but-“

“That’s all I need to hear for now,” Evi’a cut in, then studied the Exarch with a considering mein. “If I have to bear with you, you’re going to have to bear with me,” he cautioned. “I’m sometimes told I don’t think things through properly before I act.”

“I’ll manage, I’m sure,” the mage answered, bemused and weary.

“Good,” the Keeper replied shortly, and before the Exarch could process what was happening, the taller man crossed the few spans between them and gave him a gentle bunt to the forehead. “Thank you,” he said softly, and all the stunned caretaker could do was watch, breath stolen away, as his warrior turned and left the Ocular without so much as another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once more to Sorin for looking over this for me!
> 
> I really love the twins you guys. For the purpose of this story, about 6 years have passed since the beginning of ARR, +1 for their time on the Source, so they're about 23 give or take.  
> If you wanna you can look me up on twitter @syrcusgardens <3


	3. Holminster Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Echo is both a blessing and a heavy burden to bear.

Evi’a meant to go see the Exarch first thing in the morning, but by the time he woke it was nearly midday. He found a lovely breakfast of cut fruits and cheese waiting for him at the table, with a note from Alphinaud indicating that the elezen would be studying next door in his quarters if Evi’a needed anything. The Keeper took a deep breath, pondering whether or not to invite his little brother to join him, then decided against it and sat down alone. He savored a moment to take in the room—the carefully pruned orange trees, the worn crockery, the herbs he favored in his cooking hanging beside the stove. Alphinaud on one side and his sister on the other, the luxury of being allowed to sleep in even with work to be done, the thoughtful provision of breakfast and some alone time in the morning with companionship available should he wish it.

He wasn’t surprised to feel tears break free as he sipped at his cooled tea. How long had it been since he’d had a moment like this, since he was made to understand unequivocally that he was cared for? And he knew he ought to feel worse about his first bond being an impromptu link with the Exarch, but that the man had been trying to watch over and protect _him_ felt so novel that he didn’t know how to respond other than with affection. Many were the desperate men and women he’d aided over the years, leaders and common folk alike, but it had never made him feel…whatever this particular jumble of feelings was. Perhaps he was being manipulated, perhaps it was the bond making him soft, but he wasn’t inclined to believe so, and also paranoia _really_ wasn’t good for him right now.

Biting his lip, he worked up the nerve to isolate the thin filament of his connection with the Exarch, and after marveling at the novelty of it, gave it an experimental tug—then skittered away, waiting to see if anything happened. When there was nothing after a few moments, he gave a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment. There were any number of reasons that it wouldn’t work like a proper bond, and it wouldn’t do to drive himself mad with speculation. It wasn’t a bad lot really, and the man _did_ seem to be fond of him. 

So maybe he’d missed his window to see his kits and couldn’t return to his house in the Lavender Beds… and with these hellish creatures to fight this certainly wasn’t the reprieve for which he’d been so desperate, but in a pinch he thought he might be able to make it work.

He sighed and swiped at his eyes, taking another calming breath. _Just try to keep things simple, and take it one step at a time._ _Eat your breakfast and go see how Alisaie is doing._

The red mage however did not answer when he knocked, and a quick check with Alphinaud revealed that she’d gone out for some fresh air to clear her head. After some discussion he penned Alisaie a simple note asking her to come by whenever she returned. The next few bells were spent in Alphinaud’s quarters mostly in companionable silence—the scholar devising formulas for a new pearl carbuncle, and the Keeper meticulously inspecting his equipment and making repairs.

It was late afternoon by the time a sharp rap at the door indicated Alisaie’s return, and Evi’a was relieved to see some of the color back in her cheeks, even if she was still uncharacteristically a bit subdued.

“I got your note,” she said, unceremoniously plopping down next to him with a grunt. “Any news to share?”

Evi’a thought to tell her about the bond with the Exarch, but taking in her slumped posture decided against it. It would only upset and probably anger her, and neither one of them needed to deal with that at the moment. It was bad enough that he knew Alphinaud was worried and holding back for his sake.

“Not exactly…we were waiting for you to come back to see if you wanted to join us in speaking to the Exarch about our next step. It would be good to have your insight, but if you’re not up to it, I understand.” She rested her chin in her hands and frowned at him.

“Weren’t you going to do that last night?” she asked. “Did you give the report?”

“…Yes, but I got distracted, and…well, I was tired, and I thought, perhaps better to wait until we could all hear what he had to say together,” he explained, bracing himself for a possible scolding. She had never been a fan of excuses. Instead she sighed and nodded.

“You’re probably right. The walk did me well, but it would serve me a lot better to know what I can _do_.”

So it was decided that after an early dinner at the Wandering Stairs to refresh themselves, they would go to the Exarch and set in motion their goals for the immediate future.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the café’s fare was of good quality, considering the state of the First. Simple, perhaps, but fresh and prepared with care. The staff were friendly and seemed to know all of their guests, and now and again laughter rang out from the patrons. He heard snippets of conversation about a cousin who was expecting a baby, about trade with a fishing village, about an ongoing scientific expedition for a range of fauna thought extinct. It was such a healthy, pleasant atmosphere that it was hard to believe that just the day before he had been pacing himself unto distraction at the Inn. It was good just to sit quietly, appreciate the ambience, and listen to the twins swap stories of their experiences abroad. After a while there was some bustle as a few tables were pushed aside to make space for a pair of musicians with lute-inspired instruments, and it made him smile to see that people were actually pausing to listen.

“Maybe I could play here sometime,” he mused to himself, and didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Alisaie answered.

“You should ask!” she encouraged, managing a smile. “It’s been ever so long since we’ve heard you play.”

The Keeper gave a chuff and began to answer, but was halted by a sudden wave of flutters from the Echo. He tensed and waited for it to pass, but the sensation returned with an insistent, stabbing, dreadfully familiar vengeance. The accompanying pain was so sharp that he clenched at his forehead, his vision beginning to white out at the sides. _No, no, not this…_

“Evi’a!” he heard Alisaie cry before the scenery faded and shifted before him.

He found himself trembling by the side of a dirt road, overlooking dry, fenced-in fields of lowing cattle. The scent of smoke was heavy in the air, and when he lifted his gaze to the horizon he beheld a village in flames, beset on every side by winged monstrosities. All he could do was look on in horror as the creatures swooped down on men, women, and children alike without mercy, as the felled innocents were transmogrified into cruel replicas of the creatures who ended them. The vision tilted sickeningly, and suddenly villagers were fleeing past him on the road—mothers carrying infants, frantic children pulling at the hands of grandparents to urge them on faster into the forest ahead. The sin eaters soon ranged out of the town in pursuit, and even dogs and cattle were not spared in their wake. He knew that his efforts would be futile, but he found himself reaching for his bow…he couldn’t just stand there while—

As abruptly as it began the vision faded, and he sat up with a startled cry.

“Hush now, don’t make a fuss,” he heard Alphinaud say, his voice calm but urgent as he clasped a hand on the Keeper’s shoulder.

“Oh Evi’a, are you alright?” Alisaie followed in a whisper, her face anxious. Shaken, he tried to gather his wits. They were in a very public place, and it wouldn’t do to fall apart, to make these people worry, to miss out on this brief chance at being treated like a normal person. Shuddering, he rested his head in his arms on the table.

“Future Echo?” Alphinaud asked, a hint of alarm coloring his voice. Evi’a swallowed.

“A-aye, I think so,” he muttered, desperately willing himself not to be sick. “There was a t-town, under attack by sin eaters, there were children...” he whispered, reaching a trembling hand up to adjust his floral hairpin.

“Seven hells…” Alisaie breathed. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped, and was immensely grateful for her steadying arm around his shoulders.

“Evi’a, forgive me, but we…there might be something we can do. We should really inform the Exarch,” Alphinaud murmured apologetically, giving the Keeper’s shoulder a bracing squeeze. “Soon. Now, preferably.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, rising shakily. “I know.”

“Everything alright?” an elezen waitress asked, approaching them with concern.

“We’re fine,” Alphinaud answered smoothly. “Still worn out from the road, I’m afraid. If we could just settle the bill…”

“Oh no,” she replied. “The Exarch pays for you lot, you should know that by now.”

Any other time Evi’a would have protested, but it was all he could manage to bow his thanks and make for the aetheryte in a steady manner, flanked by the twins in supportive silence.

“He’s going to think I’m mad,” he muttered thickly as they climbed the stairs to the Ocular.

“He won’t,” Alphinaud replied briskly as the doors swung open to admit them. _Don’t make a fool of yourself,_ he thought desperately, nodding to the Exarch as they approached.

“Ah, welcome back. I do hope you’ve managed some decent rest. Have you…” he trailed off, frowning with concern. “My goodness, what’s happened?” Evi’a wondered if the man knew something was amiss because of the bond, or if the Keeper just looked as terrible as he felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words deserted him.

“Would you like me to explain, or…?” Alphinaud offered gently. Evi’a raised a hand to forestall him and took a moment to sort himself. He might be a mess, but he would be damned if he had to let Alphinaud speak for him when it came to this.

“Do you know about my Echo?” he asked, taking some comfort in the steadiness of his voice.

“I do,” the Exarch answered cautiously. “Have you seen aught that you would know of me?”

“…It wasn’t that kind of Echo this time. It was…this was a vision of the future,” he explained, willing himself to sound confident. The Exarch started and took a step forward.

“The future?!” he inquired with shock. “What…ah, what did you see?” he continued, and Evi’a did not miss the way he braced himself, the tension in his stance.

“A village ablaze, beset by sin eaters.”

“When did you have this vision? Do you know where it was?” the Exarch asked, his tone shifting to purposeful urgency. The bard blinked, brought up short at being taken at face value.

“Perhaps ten minutes prior, and…no…I…I don’t know where…”he struggled, feeling small and foolish. He hadn’t even considered that he would be unable to name the location.

“Regrettably, there are not many outlying settlements remaining in Norvrandt—if you can describe it, I might be able to ascertain the particular village you beheld,” the caretaker encouraged, his voice softening again, calming and kind. He listened intently as Evi’a described the geography of his vision, though the Keeper could not bring himself to recount the gruesome details. The mage pressed a hand to his mouth thoughtfully.

“Double courtyards, cattle, and a forest to the south…were the fields separated by fences in a grid pattern?”

“Come to think, they were,” Evi’a replied, astonished.

“That’s Holminster Switch then,” he said definitively. “It’s a fair distance north, we’ll need to be quick. Excuse me, I must notify the guard at once,” he announced, already sweeping past them as he spoke. The Keeper watched him go by, then swapped wondering looks with his companions. Never had the prophetic visions of his future Echo been so quickly acted upon, and certainly not by the leader of a city state. Alphinaud gave a bare smile and shrugged, but Alisaie’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion as the Exarch concluded his orders and returned to their midst.

“Forgive me, this requires my immediate attention,” he said, apologetic but curt.

“Are _you_ going to fight?” Alisaie exclaimed. “You can’t be serious.”

“These are my people, under direct protection of the Crystarium, and even if they weren’t I would lend my aid. This world has precious little remaining—we cannot afford to abandon one another now,” he replied firmly. “I’ve sent word ahead to Captain Lyna to advance the guard to the town border.”

“If you would have us, we should be glad to assist in the effort,” Alphinaud offered.

“That would be appreciated, though I would ask that you not enter the town ahead of me,” he replied with a nod, then turned to Evi’a. “My friend, I did not mean for it to go this way, but there is a very real possibility that your help in particular will be required. Will you join me on the road, that I might explain the situation on the way?” he asked.

“Of course,” the Keeper replied. Not a chance in hell was he going to sit out the first real shot he’d ever had at possibly altering the course of a vision.

The next few minutes passed in a flurry as they dashed back to their rooms to dress more appropriately and grab their gear. Their arrival at the Fort Jobb aetheryte found the guard in a similar state of frantic preparation, sergeants barking orders and soldiers rushing to assemble into their units.

“This way!” the Exarch called, and Evi’a turned to find him already mounted on his amaro and backed by a sizable unit besides. “Lyna has already gone ahead with the advance. Come, your amaro are saddled and waiting. No flight for now if you please, it would be best to avoid bringing undue attention to ourselves.” They were quick to obey, and shortly were making their way ahead of the ranks up the road at a rapid clip toward Holminster Switch, the twins flanking him as was their habit. 

The Keeper could not help feeling humbled that he had put this into motion, despite the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach and the aching tension in his limbs. Part of him was nervous that for once the Echo would fail him, and that he had warned the Exarch for nothing, while another dreaded the scene that surely awaited. Reminded that he needed to speak to the caretaker, he cast about behind him and found the man on his way to rejoin his guests, giving encouragement to the line as he approached. Evi’a gave a low whistle of surprised appreciation—the smaller miqo’te was a strikingly graceful rider, and with his robes billowing behind him, the golden staff at his back, and the dazzling sparkles of light reflecting off his crystallized arm, he cut quite an impressive figure.

“Apologies, there were some few necessary adjustments,” the Exarch explained as he pulled his champing amaro up beside Alphinaud. “If we might speak a moment…?” he called to Evi’a. Alphinaud nodded and pulled over a bit closer to the bard with a surprising grace of his own—clearly he had been practicing during his time on the First.

“You two ride ahead, we’ll hang back behind you,” he said, jerking his head meaningfully toward Alisaie with a furrowed brow. Evi’a turned to look and frowned. The red mage’s eyes were fixed unseeing on a distant point, the amaro’s reins clenched in a white knuckled grip. Gritting his teeth, he belatedly wondered if it were wise to bring her along, but then, she never would have suffered being left behind. 

“Got it,” he acknowledged, exchanging concerned looks with Alphinaud before pulling to the head of the line to meet the Exarch, who appeared somewhat agitated himself.

“Forgive me, but I fear I must cast a muffling enchantment...what I am about to tell you is meant for you and your companions alone.”

It was something of a challenge to listen effectively as the Exarch spoke of the Lightwardens, the two of them riding as close together as they dared while racing ahead of the line through a pale forest, the Keeper desperately bracing himself for the moment when the trees would clear. It all seemed straightforward enough—kill the Wardens in the regions across Norvrandt, banish the light. Apparently they had an irksome quality that transformed their slayer into a successor Lightwarden, but the Exarch was insistent that this would not be the case for him as he was in possession of the Light’s blessing. It was comforting to hear that unlike with primals, his friends would be able to stand with him—as long as he were the one to strike the killing blow. He did not cherish the idea of putting the twins (or any of the other Scions) in danger, but the years of solo primal battles combined with other heaped expectations were wearing him down, and it was becoming difficult to hide.

The thinning trees and distant clashing of steel abruptly ended his introspection and his lesson in Lightwardens. Both he and the Exarch wheeled their amaro about as they broke free of the forest, squinting into the brightness. When his vision finally adjusted, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, unsettled as ever with seeing a vision made real. A thick column of smoke billowed ominously from the village ahead, and through the haze he could make out Lyna’s units already engaged with a number of sin eaters at the perimeters. _We were too late…_ Still, the blaze was not at the pitch he’d seen with the Echo, and he seized hard onto the hope that their early arrival would save lives. The twins pulled up alongside them, and without a word they urged their amaro to a gallop as one, subsequent cavalry units following suit as they cleared the trees.

“My guests and I will take the point! Keep to the perimeters, and await orders from Captain Lyna before entering the village,” the Exarch called, and for a moment Evi’a wondered how his words would be conveyed, then understood as he heard the words repeated in a feathering strokes of aether on the wind. Within short order they were in range of the town, and even as he reached for his bow the Keeper was further amazed to see the Exarch manifest a mighty sword and shield of pure aether and take the point exactly as he’d said he would. From Alisaie’s early days as a red mage he knew this was no small undertaking, and yet the man made it look almost effortless. There was nothing to do but dismount and follow him into the fray, and then there was aught but chaos. Smoke clogged the air and burned at his lungs, while on every side the foul creatures screeched, underscored by the cries of the townsfolk and the clangor of steel.

For a blessing it was easy to keep track of the Exarch’s glowing sword, leading them on as they hacked their way into the village and toward the first courtyard. Even gripped by the entranced stillness of mind pitched battle tended to afford him, a distant part of Evi’a longed to move down the side paths and aid the people as they attempted to flee. But that was for the Crystarium guard, and he would not belittle their efforts by failing at his own task. It was satisfying as well to find that the twins still flowed seamlessly along with his advance, their teamwork requiring no adjustment even after such a long separation. What worry he’d had for how the Exarch would fit in with them quickly faded—the man was unrelentingly fierce, and dealt an astounding amount of damage on his own.

Lost as he was to the battle, it still made him clench his teeth and pin his ears to come upon the corrupted remains of Tesleen in the courtyard. 

“Ah, so that’s where you went,” Alisaie said in a low voice at his side. He wanted to give her reprieve to stand aside, but barely had time to glance her way before the creature was upon them, and there was no choice but to fight. It was a hot, dusty, nasty affair, loosing arrows into this monstrosity that used to be a person Alisaie loved, watching it scrabble in the dirt in agony and desperation for their aether. As it flagged and limped, he thought he might be able to end it quickly, but Alisaie jerked his bow down so suddenly and viciously that she nearly tore it from his hands. 

“Let me do it,” she snarled, looking him in the eyes, as terrible as a falcon clawing at its prey.

“Alisaie, you needn’t—“ Alphinaud started in, but ceased as she whirled to face him.

“Let me be the one to give her peace!” she cried. Taken aback, Alphinaud raised his hands in placation and nodded, cutting a desperate glance at Evi’a. When she turned to face him again, eyes blazing, he gave her a bare nod and stepped back. Perhaps sensing the atmosphere, the Exarch fell back from distracting the beast, and the red mage immediately seized the opening to swoop in. Evi’a had nothing but respect for her as she cried out and unfalteringly plunged her rapier into the creature’s heart, and though Alphinaud’s hard expression wavered with concern, the Keeper knew he felt the same. He shifted and dared to look as the Exarch humbly returned their side and found his posture similarly solemn, his mouth pressed in a firm line.

“May the filaments of her soul find peace among the stars,” he intoned softly as the sin eater began to fade into glimmers of light, turning skyward from Alisaie’s blade. After a moment the red mage withdrew her sword to her side and stood still as a statue, her head raised to see the sparks off on their meandering path. She whispered something that even the Keeper could not hear, then turned toward them with purpose, her eyes lit with fire and grief.

“Come on, we’re not done yet,” she declared tersely, then whirled on her heel to make her way up the path.

He knew that eventually this was going to be very upsetting, but as the air began roiling with an acrid, nauseating aether that intensified with every step, he deftly put aside his emotion for when it could be better examined and dealt with.

Their arrival in the town square found most of the citizenry either long fled or reduced to clumps of chalky feathered cocoons, spindly-legged sin eaters prowling in dense packs amidst their claimed quarry. Even with soldiers of the guard gradually joining in, the ensuing struggle proved over-long and tedious. The thick scar on his side began to ache and his arms grew heavy, fingers numbed and aetherial well diminished from the constant loosing of arrows. Beside him the twins began to flag with exhaustion and aether sickness, and more than once the Keeper had to move in to prevent the creatures from overwhelming Alphinaud. Only the Exarch showed no signs of weariness, and adjusted as best as could be expected to distract the beasts until they could be effectively handled.

After what felt bells, they had cut down enough sin eaters to safely leave the rest to the guard and break free toward the road leading uphill to the secondary courtyard. Adrenaline jolted through him, the aether so dense as they made their way that he felt he might reach out and drag it from the air. As they crested the hill—coughing, bedraggled, and filthy--they were met with the source of their woes. Evi’a instinctively pinned his ears against the magicks clogging the air and searing his lungs. He could barely see the creature properly, so harsh was the unadulterated aspected light.

“This is one of them, the Lightwarden Philia!” the Exarch shouted, his voice muffled as though underwater. The Keeper felt more than heard more words being sent back on the wind—orders to the guard to keep their distance until the Exarch gave the command. “Only those with the Light’s Blessing may strike the final blow—once the creature staggers, you must fall back,” he directed at the twins. They both scowled, but now was hardly the time for argument. The creature gave a ringing roar of challenge that pierced deep into his soul, and Evi’a felt himself fall away.

His actions became a haze of light and movement, melded with a vague, distant awareness of his companions’ positions and the clash of chains as they swung above him in the radiance. Only when a sudden dispersion in the aether allowed an ear-splitting howl to rend the air did the Keeper come down from his trance to find the creature riddled with arrows, dazzles of light lifting gently from its form as it began to dissipate. He stood rooted to the spot, his hands clawlike on his bow as he resisted the urge to choose fight or flight, watching the creature’s form ebb away.

There was something peaceful about the display, a blessed quiet in the wake of the previous aetherial cacophony. Little by little he felt his body relax, his grip on the bow loosening enough to allow him to put it away. Still he watched intently, mesmerized and drawn as the final bright embers of the beast coalesced into a collection of star-like orbs…which slowly, expectantly drew toward him. Without hesitation he reached out to accept them, and found himself unsurprised as they ever so gently floated forward and soaked into his chest, feathery and warm. He could feel what used to be the life of the beast begin to fade, the tendrils of its hold on the land stretching razor thin. Instinctively, he raised his hand to the sky and watched with distant awe as the connection snapped and the light parted as the sundering of an ocean to reveal the twinkling firmament.

He was unsure how long it was that he stared, and even as the Exarch stepped forward and knelt before him, it was a while before the caretaker’s words truly began to reach his ears. It came to him in increments that the Exarch was determined to see this done no matter what, that he would atone…

“…I beg you to stay and see this fight to its conclusion. Cast down the Wardens, and return Darkness to the First!”

Finally, he came to himself with a stuttering gasp, every ilm of his body tingling and his vision too sharp around the edges.

“Are you alright?” the Exarch asked with alarm, reaching out an arm to steady him.

“I’m fine,” he panted, holding up a hand to forestall the twins as they rushed forward to aid him. “Sweet Twelve, get up,” he added breathlessly, pulling the smaller miqo’te to stand and staggering with the effort.

“I’ll gladly give my best to be the warrior you need,” he said, steadying himself with one hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. “You don’t have to beg, and you don’t have to atone for wanting to save your people and ours. I would be unworthy of the Light’s Blessing if I thought to deny you.” The Exarch’s lips parted, and just as he took a tremulous breath to speak, Alisaie broke in.

“If I may ask, why are you doing all this?” she asked, obstinate and proud even after the events of the day, her hair singed and braid half unraveled. “Summoning Evi’a must have been a dangerous drain on your aether, and that’s on top of your previous failures.” 

“I do it for my people, for the Crystarium, that they might have a future,” he answered earnestly, shifting to face her.

“That is true now, yes, but this city had yet to be built when you summoned the Tower.” Here she cut narrowed eyes at Evi’a, who realized with a start that he still had a hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. Sheepish, he quickly removed it. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought very far on the timing of the Exarch coming to the First or summoning the Tower—it seemed plain to him that the man cared for his people and wanted to save them, and that was motive enough for him. As usual, the twins were one step ahead on this sort of thing, and while it was embarrassing he was also thankful for their practicality. He watched as the Exarch bowed his head.

“There are…things we can ill afford to lose,” he murmured, and Evi’a clutched his chest with a stifled gasp as a fragile soap bubble of connection lit on the tenuous thread of their bond and burst into a thousand droplets of intermingled love and grief. It was less than a second but clear as the night sky above. Nonplussed and reeling, he tried to school his wits as the conversation continued as though nothing had happened.

“And…I sensed from the first that I had a part to play in preserving them.” He listened as the Exarch once again declared himself an old man with painful memories, as Alisaie apologized, mollified for the present. He was grateful when Alphinaud spoke up to pledge their continued support, that he only had to nod acquiescence rather than speak.

“Then on behalf of the First, I offer all of you my deepest thanks,” the Exarch said, his voice tight with emotion. “My Warriors of Darkness, pray allow me to see to the survivors, and then we can make our way back to the Crystarium together.” Evi’a watched, half dazed, as the man departed their circle to speak to Lyna, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the Captain as she too was clearly still attempting to compose herself.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Alphinaud asked anxiously, looking down at him with a frown. “That was…a trying ordeal, and you absorbed no small amount of aether.”

“I’m…hmm…ask me tomorrow how I am and perhaps I could tell you more clearly,” he muttered. “Right now…” He waved his hand in the air and sighed. “I think I’m fine though. A bath would be nice.”

Bone-weary and covered with soot, they followed Lyna and the Exarch back down the hill into the village, where they aided the guard for a bell or so in preparing the grieving survivors for travel to the Crystarium. Evi’a was guiltily relieved to find that the bodies had already been gathered and neatly covered. Some of the forms under those sheets were very small, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that with any grace tonight. After a while they were approached by Lyna, who firmly informed them that the situation was under control and that they were to retire and get some rest. The Exarch looked to argue with her, and despite his weariness Evi’a had to smile a little at how quickly the mage was shut down and sent on his way.

“I thought you were the king around here?” he asked as the Exarch approached them.

“Oh, I am no king,” he answered with a tired smile. “Just an old man trying to look after his people. Come then, shall we aetheryte back to the Crystarium?”

“…You lot go ahead,” Alisaie said, her arms crossed as she stared distantly down the road. “There’s…something I need to see. I’ll return later tonight.” Evi’a opened his mouth to protest, shared a look with Alphinaud, then let it drop.

“Go with care, little sister,” he amended gently, and she offered a half smile.

“I will. Thank you for leaving me be. If either of you come after me, I warn you, I shall be quite cross,” she declared, and after a glance to be sure Lyna wasn’t watching, turned away down the path. The Exarch sighed.

“Well, shall the three of us go ahead then?” Within moments they were back in the Crystarium, where the Keeper was surprised to find the plaza and Exedra practically bustling with excitement. _Of course there’s a crowd you fool, most of these people have never seen the night sky._ He balked at the idea of having to play the cordial hero to such a gathering, then remembered that they didn’t know it was he who had absorbed the light. He let go a puff of relief, and noticed the Exarch taking in his citizens with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry to part with you here, but obviously the people will be wanting for some explanation. Don’t worry,” he added quietly, seeing Evi’a’s crestfallen expression, “…I don’t believe now is the time for everyone to learn the identity of the Warrior of Darkness. Given the situation in Eulmore, it is best that we remain discreet. No doubt you are looking forward to your rest as well,” he said genially, nodding at them both.

“That would be appreciated,” Evi’a mumbled, scrubbing at his face, his body afire with fatigue.

“Let us disperse then, and reconvene on the morrow when everyone has been afforded some time to recover. Once again, you have my deepest, dearest thanks.” With that he bowed, and turned toward the Exedra to mingle with his awe-struck people.

After bidding Alphinaud goodnight and stumbling through his washing up, the Keeper fell into bed and was asleep before the lights fully dimmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Sorin for looking over this one for me!
> 
> From here we'll be diverging more and more from the established ShB story. As always, thank you for reading!


	4. Initiative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to at least attempt to sort out what might be going on with the Tower and the Exarch.

It was well past midday when Evi’a woke with a terrific headache and a dry, raspy throat. He sat up with a moan, rubbing blearily at his eyes and smoothing out his ear where he’d slept on it folded backwards. The sunlight beaming through the windows made his eyes water—the room felt too bright, the colors oversaturated. His knees wobbled a bit as he stood, and he realized with a wince that he hadn’t eaten since their early dinner the previous day. Grumbling to himself all the while, he boiled the kettle, cut a hunk of bread, fried a few eggs over easy, and threw himself down at the table to eat before his empty stomach made him any more ill.

“I know that feeling,” Ardbert mused from his seat across the table, and the Keeper nearly knocked his coffee to the floor in shock.

“Seven hells man,” he groaned, collapsing back into his chair. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what? I’ve been here since you woke,” the ghost replied dryly. “Decided to play the hero, have you?” Evi’a scowled and returned to his breakfast, tensing as the headache clawed downward into his shoulders.

“I’m not playing. If there’s something I can do, I’ll do it.”

“That’s what we thought too, once,” Ardbert sighed, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “Then it all went tits up.”

“What would you have me do? Let that town be slaughtered by sin eaters?” the Keeper asked tiredly, not particularly in the mood for gloomy cynicism—or company, for that matter. He still felt distanced from himself, waiting for the hammer of yesterday’s events to drop.

“I would have you think,” the warrior returned, face stern. “You can’t rely on those twins to do all the thinking for you. Aren’t you much older than them anyway?”

“Wisdom can show itself at any age, and are you _truly_ maligning my judgement in taking up arms for the First?” Evi’a asked, pointing at the ghost with his fork.

“You’re fighting blindly, so in this case, yes,” Ardbert replied crisply. The Keeper let his fork drop and dejectedly stabbed at an egg.

“Well, you’re probably right, I suppose,” he allowed, ears drooping as he returned to his food, disinclined to comment further and hoping the ghost took the hint.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic!” the warrior snapped. “This is not just about you! I haven’t known you long, but anyone can see that you love your twin shadows and that the sentiment is returned. They trust you, they’re going to follow you, don’t you see?”

“I know that!” the Keeper fired back angrily, ears pinned. “I…I know that…” he said again quietly, finally abandoning his breakfast to press his hands into his lap, even though his stomach protested. Ardbert pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know this is a bad time. But honestly, I’m worried for you. I don’t want to see you go the same way we did. We didn’t think, we didn’t question like we should have…myself most of all, and we all paid for our blindness, our apathy.” _Oh, so now I’m not just foolish but apathetic as well?_ He wanted to be angry but found himself dismally lacking in verve, and in his exhaustion the fallen hero’s words cut deep. There was a long silence, punctuated by the thump-thump of Evi’a’s agitated tail smacking against the legs of his chair.

“I’m not playing at being a hero,” the bard finally said. “I want to save these people, and it’s been proven now that I can. So far, this city has been good to me. I’ll never forgive myself if I turn my back on them. That’s the truth, even if it is simple,” he said quietly.

“That’s understandable, and I know what it’s like to be felled with love for a place that makes you feel welcomed, fills the holes in your heart. But if you’re going to fight for them, you’re going to have to take it upon yourself to at least attempt to bridge the gaps in your understanding of the overall situation,” Ardbert chastised gently. “And I realize I’m certainly no pillar of virtue to be lecturing you—truth be told, I think this world is done and has seen enough heroes, but hells with me. You need to do this for yourself.”

Evi’a frowned and stared at his hands, willing his still hazy mind to consider the ghost’s warning. Being thought of as simple always hit a nerve, and he knew that recently he was a bit of a mess…but this did not excuse him from doing his best to act responsibly. If he were completely truthful with himself, he knew of late he’d carelessly accepted too much at face value, even expected the twins to pick up the slack. They were worried about him, he could see it in their eyes, in the quiet between their words, and now he’d taken on this task with no more than love and high ideals in mind, and he should have known better. He did not miss as well that the Exarch was worried about his nonchalant acceptance of the bond, and that the caretaker had attempted to discourage his hasty decision to fight the Lightwardens—despite this being the very reason the Keeper was summoned in the first place. _And I couldn’t bear to hear him out so I cut him off and fled._

The bard gave a heavy sigh and stared at his laced hands. It was painful to acknowledge that there was a very real possibility that he was not up to this challenge at the moment, that he should have taken some time to rest and consider…but he’d made his vow and he would honor it.

The only thing for it was to attempt to make up for his lack of judgement, though it was difficult to recognize all of the decisions in which his natural tendency to believe in others had given way to dangerous complacency. He was well aware that as a visitor to the First and with the land in such peril, he did not have the time or the means to answer every enigma, but for the twins’ sake he could at least have a go at one or two of them. And he had to admit, it would be good to be operating on something other than blind trust in the Exarch.

All the same, despite their short time together, he _liked_ the Exarch, and wondered still at the brief, blinding burst of love and desperation that had flashed over his soul. It had felt directed at _him_ , though why he would be the target of such powerful emotion was a mystery. But something about the caretaker just felt…right, and perhaps it was designed that way, perhaps it was because of the bond, but he didn’t want to cause the man undue grief. Unfortunately, the Exarch was also probably the one with the answers, and either could not or would not provide them.

But come to think, _why_ was the Exarch the one with all the answers? He might have summoned the Tower, but did not the rest of the First experience the Flood as well? Why did only the Exarch seem to be in possession of the full picture? And why would the Tower be necessary to save them? The Exarch had mentioned using the Tower as a summoning practice run, but even from his basic aetherial studies Evi’a knew there to be a vast difference between summoning a structure and summoning a living being.

“Well, that’s an improvement,” Ardbert remarked, studying the Keeper’s thoughtful expression. “Care to share?”

“There’s something to do with the Tower,” the Keeper said pensively. “Some reason it was vital for it to be here. It might have been to help provide power for the summonings, but how did the Exarch know about it, and why?”

“Go on,” Ardbert encouraged, appearing interested himself. Heartened that his inquiries seemed sound to another, the bard continued.

“So why don’t you go to the Tower and do some poking around? The one on your world, I mean. The Exarch did say you should be able to teleport to the Source at will,” the ghost suggested.

“You know…that’s a good idea, and I’ve got a little free time...I think I will. If I can sort it out, I might be able to understand him more clearly as well.”

The Exarch sighed as a stray breeze blew through his open balcony window and sent his latest research scattering across his quarters. He watched his calculations flutter about on the floor for a bit, then sat back in his chair and looked out the window with quiet wonder.

How many years had it been since he’d beheld a blue sky, delighted in the beauty of sunbeams breaking through the clouds, felt a wind heavy with the scent of rain and life? How often had he struggled against despairing that he would never again experience the majesty of unsullied nature? Oh, how he had failed to properly appreciate the world when he was young, always with his nose in a book, preoccupied with how he might most nobly fulfill his purpose or end his life trying…though Evi’a had tried with some success to distract him, to show him how good it was to live.

But now, now it was done. Even should the people of the Crystarium fight to the last man standing, there was nothing to stop what was set in motion. All that was left to him now was to watch over his warrior, to guide him on his way and see to it that he was cared for as his burden grew. That he knew he was treasured and irreplaceable. Of course the Exarch would also fight for the Crystarium, but his people were resourceful, and they had always given their caretaker far too much credit for what they had accomplished on their own. It was done, and he had not failed the survivors of the 8th Umbral Calamity. Yet.

There was still much left to be done, and despite having finally reached this momentous achievement more than one hundred years in the making, creeping unease stole over his heart.

He was going to have to sit back and watch the Keeper absorb the light, watch him suffer.

No, more than that, he was going to sit at a distance with just enough of a connection to _feel_ him suffer, pretend that he didn’t understand what was happening as the Light ate away at Evi’a’s being.

There was also the vexatious matter of the bard’s unreliable ability to See. The Future Echo, as he’d always called it. The Exarch made a low sound of distress, reaching to grasp at his hood where it lay draped over his shoulders. He had taken measures in the Tower to prevent Evi’a’s Echo from taking form—there were so many events in the past that should not be allowed to become the Keeper’s burden to bear. On a more personal level, he’d greatly wished to prevent Evi’a’s Seeing—anything to spare the man a repeat of the horror he’d gone through in the Vault.

Yet those measures had failed, and Evi’a had Forseen the attack on Holminster Switch. Thank Azeyma he had, or the whole village might have been lost. In the wake of such harsh reality, the Exarch began to wonder if in muffling the echo, he was making a dear and costly mistake just to satisfy his own sentiment and guilt. All these years of hiding his face from his people, of being unable to look anyone in the eyes like an honest man, and for what? Evi’a didn’t know who he was, couldn’t remember the Tower, and had an Echo that gave him random visions of the future. What use all these years of hiding and suffering if the bard stood a very real chance of Seeing everything anyway?

But for knowing nothing, the Keeper was certainly suspicious of _something_ , and though Evi’a had stopped himself speaking on several occasions, the Exarch could feel him grasping for recognition, feel the victorious little bursts of discovery on the bond. The man was realizing something, and the Exarch didn’t dare ask what it was.

Well, he’d hidden his visage all these years, and there didn’t seem much point in revealing himself now. Perhaps if he were lucky, hiding his face would somehow deter the prophetic Echo when it came to his plan to take the Light into the rift.

Sighing, he stood and went about picking up his scattered notes. He was on borrowed time now, and wanted to be sure there was an alternative method to send the Scions home should his death fail to do the job. His tidying was distracted by an aetherial chime, and he straightened up with a frown to open the communication, wondering if Kholusia had already made its move.

“My lord, one of your guests is here to see you,” the gatekeep announced.

“Ah, send them in,” he answered, puzzled. They had agreed to reconvene and discuss the next stage of the plan, but as evening approached he’d assumed that Evi’a and the twins meant to take the day in well-deserved rest. He opened a portal and stepped through to the Umbilicus, then opened the door to the Ocular to find a rather pale Evi’a waiting, pack and bow slung across his back.

“Good afternoon, my friend,” he greeted, moving to stand in front of his mirror as usual. “How are you feeling after yesterday’s trials?”

“Sore,” the bard admitted raspily. “Vision’s gone a bit bright and sharp around the edges, but if that’s all there is to absorbing Wardens, I daresay I can manage. What of yourself?”

“What, me?” he asked, too surprised to linger on how difficult these absorptions were sure to be. “I’m chagrined to admit, the Tower prevents me from feeling many of the aftereffects of battle, so long as I stay within the reach of its light.”

“Ah, that must be convenient,” Evi’a said ruefully. “What of the villagers?”

“They are being cared for. A task force has remained in the Switch to help rebuild, while the vulnerable and injured have been afforded rooms in the Pendants. But I see you have made ready for travel…?” he noted, eyeing the rather weathered traveling pack.

“Aye, I need to go back to the Source for a bit, thought maybe to use your mirror if you’d allow it. There’s some…things I need to see to,” he said, looking away cagily.

“…I see,” the Exarch said slowly, gripping at his staff. “I confess, I hadn’t expected you would wish to return to the Source so soon.” Worry churned at his stomach, and he tried not to show his discomfiture. _Has it already been too much? What if-_

“I’m going to come back,” the Keeper said gently, cutting into his thoughts. “Is now a bad time to go?”

“It’s not my place to tell you when you may come and go,” he said with a frown. “I’ve asked too much of you as it is.”

“You didn’t tell me, I’m asking,” Evi’a said with a tired smile. “Look, I know it was an accident, but we _do_ have a bond, and I’m not one to stand on ceremony with leaders. If there’s something you want to say, just say it.” The Exarch swallowed and resisted the urge to fiddle with his staff—this was not the turn he had expected the conversation to take.

“Ah, I do hope the bond hasn’t caused you any undue discomfort,” he fumbled. “You really shouldn’t be able to feel anything.” The Keeper stared at him intently, and this time he couldn’t help shifting just a little. “Er, have you? Felt anything.” _Gods, what are you asking, you old fool!_ He looked away, hoping his hood served to block the man seeing the mortified blush creeping down his cheeks.

“…I have,” the Keeper said at length, “but I don’t mind so much.” The Exarch couldn’t help turning back to the man with shock, taking in the Keeper’s fond, soft expression. Gods, this was going to kill him, and they’d only just begun.

“I…I’m…I didn’t mean to…I’ll look into rectifying that,” he stammered, ears pinning hard under his hood. Evi’a gave a little chuff.

“It’s okay, really,” he said with a smile. “So…am I clear to go back?” Struggling to compose himself, the Exarch explained that they were expecting hostilities from Kholusia any day now, to which the Keeper responded in turn that he would keep his visit to a single night. It took a bit longer than usual for the mage to open the portal, but he managed—even when the Keeper paused to give him a gentle bunt on the way out.

Trembling, he raised a hand to where their foreheads had touched, and didn’t notice the rumbling beneath his feet until the panicked gatekeep entered, asking for orders to relay. 

Evi’a couldn’t help but feel relieved as he breathed in the crisp, familiar air of Mor Dhona. It wasn’t as though he were worried about the Exarch’s mirror not working properly…but a jump between worlds was no small feat. Perhaps next time he would chance teleporting from the First without the aetherial mirror. If he was feeling lucky.

As much as he longed to head into the Rising Stones for a cup of tea and a visit, he knew he didn’t have time. It wouldn’t do to waste precious hours, especially when there was a risk that Kholusia would attack while he was away. Instead, he fetched his black chocobo Buttercup from the rental stable and dutifully made his way toward St. Coinach’s Find. Tataru had gone through them to secure passage to the Tower, so he figured he might as well attempt the same.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the little camp when he’d traveled through previously, but what he saw on closer observation was fairly depressing. Half of the makeshift buildings appeared deserted, and while space had been made for many tents, only a few were pitched and in use. The air was quiet, somber even, and the researchers did little more than look up to note his passing before turning back to their work. It was a far cry from the lively hub of scientific excitement he remembered from his early adventuring days.

It didn’t take long for him to make it to the center of the camp, and after a few inquiries a grandfatherly roegadyn man stepped out of a ragged tent to greet him.

“Ah, well, if it isn’t the Warrior of Light! Last I heard from your accountant, you were off to another star or some such.” Evi’a inclined his head politely.

“That’s so, but it would seem I may have some business here.”

“Business? Afraid there’s not much business to be had around these parts nowadays,” the man sighed. Evi’a frowned, turning in his saddle to take in the Syrcus Tower, shining in the distance.

“I need clearance to go back to the Tower, perhaps go inside this time, if it can be allowed.”

“Allowed?” the roe laughed, an edge of bitterness to his mirth. “Young man, wouldn’t we all like to be allowed.”

After they’d made their proper greetings and Evi’a set out some feed for Buttercup, the roe—one Rammbroes—led him into the central pavilion. The Keeper was not encouraged by the lonesome look of the place--faded paperwork pinned to the walls and the larder littered with empty tins—but he would not give up so easily.

“What happened here?” he asked, as the researcher sat down heavily and offered him a cup of strong black coffee. He would have preferred cream, but seriously doubted any would be available.

“That…is a long story, and if you don’t have a lot of time…”

“I really don’t, I’m needed back tomorrow morning.” The roe sighed with resignation and sat back in his chair, as though he’d expected no different. The Keeper winced apologetically. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to disrespect your work. If I could stay and learn more, I would.”

“Ah, it’s not your fault, I don’t mean to be gloomy,” the researcher said, taking his glasses off to give them a wipe. “It’s just that no one has time for this place anymore, and it used to be so promising.” Evi’a did his best to wait patiently as Rammbroes looked to the ceiling for a while, then perched his spectacles back on his nose. “What exactly is it that you’re looking for here?”

“I…I wish I knew,” he said pensively, weighing how much would be wise to tell…especially since the story would sound too fantastical to be true. Then again, being the Warrior of Light did have its benefits when it came to people trusting in his words. “When I went to the other star, the First-“

“Oschon’s beard, did you actually go to another star? I thought it was just a fancy metaphor,” the researcher exclaimed.

“Aye, it’s been…quite the trip. Luckily I can still use aetherial currents to travel between, it seems.”

“Seven hells,” Rammbroes muttered, stroking his chin. “Go on.”

The roe listened intently as Evi’a recounted select parts of his tale as it related to the Tower, how it had been summoned and used, and the enigma that was its diligent caretaker.

“And this Exarch, he’s adamant that it’s this same Syrcus Tower he summoned?” Rammbroes asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the site.

“Well, that’s what he said anyway, though it seems like it must be some time in the future when he takes it. Besides that, I get the distinct feeling I know the man, but I can’t place why…and I’m beginning to get the impression that he knows me, but I’m at a loss as to how this could be possible,” the Keeper related. “And like I said, he was upset when he found I’d never been here…so I thought, perhaps it would be wise to pay the Tower a visit, investigate what it is that I’m missing.”

“Seven hells,” the researcher muttered again, brow creased in thought. “This…sounds less like a matter of Allagan research and more in the field of rift dynamics. You’d need to talk to Cid for insight about that…I couldn’t begin to tell you what could be going on.” The Keeper lashed his tail with frustration, unable to help himself. There wasn’t going to be time on this trip to track down Cid, and he’d been so sure that at least _something_ would turn up.

“I’ve only been around Mor Dhona for about the last…hm, five or six years. Assuming he knows me and he has such a connection with the Tower, there’s a good chance he would have been here, right?” he asked, a little more desperate than he’d hoped.

“I can promise you, there’ve been no time traveling mages around here since this project started,” Rammbroes stated dryly. “There’s a fair number of us with our noses up our arse or in a book, but I’d like to think we’d have noticed.”

“Well, maybe he wasn’t a time traveling mage when he was here!” the Keeper countered testily, then straightened up with revelation at his own words. “Maybe he wasn’t…say, did you have any miqo’te men on your team?”

“What? There were a few yes, we had all sorts on the site. Why?”

“I’m…let’s say…95% sure the Exarch is a miqo’te, and a very short one at that. That narrows it down a bit, doesn’t it?” he asked eagerly, pleased with himself. Rammbroes gave a bemused shrug.

“I suppose it might, but…we didn’t have anyone that I would peg with developing that sort of talent,” he said with a half shake of his head. “Although…well…long shot there may have been one, but…”

“Really, who were they?!” Evi’a asked, half standing in his excitement that he might be on to something.

“G’raha Tia, a Baldesion scholar and expert on all matters Allag. We requested his presence to see to it that the historical sanctity of the site was respected. He was also the last of the Allag bloodline, and the inheritor of the G tribe’s Allagan eye.”

“The Allagan eye?”

“Aye, one of his eyes was ruby red—it was a trait passed down to one child each generation in the G tribe, that they might strive to fulfill the final wishes of the Allag princess Salina, that the Tower would once again shine as a beacon of hope.”

“Menphina, I’ve never heard that story before…or…have I?” he mused, suddenly confused. It did sound awfully familiar, but like many things having to do with the Exarch, the realization was just out reach. Just like with the Exarch… “Where might I find this man? I think…I have a feeling if I speak with him, I might learn something, perhaps there’s a connection.” Rammbroes sighed and shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry, warrior, but there’s no speaking to G’raha Tia anymore. That eye of his pained him more and more as time went on, and he got to taking sleeping draughts to ease it. It only got worse after the left eye turned red as well…and then, one day he took one draught too many. Found him dead at the foot of the tower gates, sitting with a tome in his lap and peaceful as you please. Not sure if it was an accident or not…wouldn’t surprise me if it weren’t, to be honest—his was never an easy lot.” The Keeper felt the breath leave him, and he fell heavily back down into his chair, unbidden tears pricking at his eyes with sorrow for this man he’d never known.

“Gods, I’m sorry,” he murmured, swiping at his eyes. “I shouldn’t be this upset but…I don’t know.” The strange, unwelcome sense of not knowing but feeling like he should made him feel even worse, and even more certain that it would have been very enlightening to meet this deceased scholar. Rammbroes eyed him intently for a moment, then pushed himself up out of his creaking chair with a grunt. 

“Wish I could have given you his academic notes—you might have found them useful. One of his colleagues came and claimed his possessions after, seeing as we didn’t know about any family,” Rammbroes said apologetically, ambling across the room to a dented metal bookcase, where he pulled out a worn red tome. “We did find this later though. Turns out he’d hidden it under his tent. Seems to be a personal journal, and knowing the man I didn’t feel right reading it. You can borrow it if you like. Can’t imagine how it’d be of use but you never know. If anyone here was a Tower expert, it was him.”

Frowning, he took the proffered journal and gently ran his fingers over the cover. He’d read a few journals in his time, especially when he was studying red magic, but this felt…different. As much as he wanted to learn about the Tower, it felt almost a breach of privacy to read. But the man _was_ dead, and he couldn’t really afford the sentiment if he was to be more responsible about taking the initiative to understand the fight on the First.

“You alright, son?” the roe asked, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Aye, I’m fine…just tired maybe, it’s been a long few days. My thanks for the journal, I’ll bring it back once I’ve finished.” 

“Oh, and by the way, too many men lost, too many unexplainable happenings, too little progress, and finally we lost our funding.”

“What?” the Keeper asked, confused.

“You asked what happened here. That was the abridged version,” Rammbroes said tersely. “If you want to go to the Tower base, be my guest. There’s all manner of beasts out there, but I reckon a primal slayer like you can handle it.”

So it was that a bell or so later found Evi’a seated with his back against the gilded Tower gates, the crystal humming a whispery melody beneath him as he opened the journal and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late...and a bit short. That's mostly because the next chapter is quite long, and I didn't know where to cut it! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


	5. G'raha Tia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who was G'raha Tia, and what became of him?

_Excerpts From the Personal Journal of one “G’raha Tia”_

_Of the_

_Students of Baldesion at Val_

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Astral Moon 6th Sun_

_Gods, the first blank page in a blank book has no right to be so daunting! I’ve never been one to keep a journal, because, honestly, there seems very little point, but I never imagined as a boy that one day I’d come to achieve my dream of conducting research in reach of the light of the Syrcus Tower. I still struggle to believe it, and yet, here I am. As respectable historians tend to keep a personal journal aside from professional logs when taking part in expeditions, I shall do my part to record my trials and victories in pursuit of the truth behind this eye, which has dogged our family for generations. Father always said that the truth of our eye lies with Allag, and I mean to find that truth, to be as the heroes in tales who undaunted forged their own paths to victory and renown._

_Well. I may not be a hero, but Azeyma as my witness, when I die I will have left my mark on history._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Astral Moon 10th Sun_

_Managing to find my way around, though it’s not been quite as easy as I expected to fit in. There are scholars from a number of fields stationed here, and most seem intent on taking their own approach to the issue of how to reach the Tower. People are defensive about their ideas, and the lack of cohesion is, frankly, discouraging. Twice now meetings have dissolved into shouting matches, and as we can’t decide on a method moving forward, I find myself with little to contribute. Hopefully this will resolve soon._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Astral Moon 18th Sun_

_Research is going much more smoothly now that we’ve divided into teams and decided to pursue the investigation to the Labyrinth. Apparently Rammbroes was able to procure a contract with Garlond Ironworks, and I daresay the use of their technology will be most beneficial. We’re looking into the aetherochemical use of aethersands to nullify the aspected natures of the barriers, and it seems like provided with the proper components the Garlond team can fashion some manner of claw that will do the job. In theory when the time comes the impact of the energy released by the failing fields should not damage the site, but one can never be too cautious. To that end I intend to keep watch over the construction of these claws. In the meantime, we’ll need to do our part and procure the aethersand._

_Spoke to a minerologist today, one F’Taya by name, and she’s noticed a curious detail in the crystal littering Mor Dhona’s landscape. It would appear that it exhibits frequencies nearly exact to those of the crystal at the very outskirts of the Tower base, and furthermore shows some capacity for energy storage. Why this would be I cannot say, but if I may indulge in some speculation in my own journal, I wonder if the aetherial surge at the battle of Silvertear Skies originated from the still buried Tower? That could have something to do with the reason the crystals’ composition are so alike…_

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Astral Moon, 32nd Sun_

_Still in a quandary with the aethersand. We’ve exhausted our funding for the next two weeks on just one sample, and we still need three more. I offered my services to Rammbroes this morning that I might attempt to procure some on my own, but he says he doesn’t want to risk me. I despise being underestimated like this, I grew up in Ilsabard for Azeyma’s sake. Well, if they want to waste money they don’t have on these middling adventurers they can be my guest._

_I know we’re making strides, but I have never been a patient man. I want to contribute, to be useful, but apparently my place is here on my arse as an Allag consultant. I suppose I’d just hoped for more, but I shouldn’t complain, not even here._

_Oh, but I will! One more item. In the downtime Cid has arranged these ‘icebreaker’ activities so that the teams can build camaraderie. I find myself at a loss for what to say, and I don’t have clever childhood anecdotes to offer. It’s all just so awkward and unpleasant._

_I wrote Krile a letter when I arrived earlier this moon but she hasn’t responded. She said she’d write, she must just be busy._

_…It’s poor form to disparage the adventurers so. If my lot were different I’d like to think I’d have become one myself._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Umbral Moon 11th Sun_

_I’m going to procure the water aspected aethersand myself, and to hell with Rammbroes. He wouldn’t dare throw me out, after all. We’ve sent so many adventurers only to have them return empty handed, and yesterday one of them, a girl only 17 years of age, was trampled by a ravening boar in an attempt to procure the specimen. This is untenable, I won’t have it._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Second Umbral Moon 12th Sun_

_Got the sand. Gods I wish someone could have seen me, dashing through the boughs as I felled that mighty boar from above with my bow--I’m sure it must have been a sight! Ah, it reminds me of hunting with my cousins back home, haven’t done anything like that for quite some time. If I were more of an artist I should love to sketch the expression on Rammbroes’ face when I produced the specimen. He’s given me leave to find the wind aspected sand as well. This is more to my liking._

_Some of my erstwhile teammates have the gall to say I was selfish and careless. Perhaps there is a kernel of truth in their words, but I didn’t see them doing anything to aid our cause. I cannot be content with idle study, and if they find me a brazen showoff, so be it. I will solve the mystery behind this eye, I will forge my own path._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 3rd Astral Moon 27th Sun_

_I chanced to see the Warrior of Light today! Seven hells, no one told me he had rooms in Mor Dhona, although now that I think on it that’s a given considering the Scion headquarters are there. He was exchanging tomestones for the most lovely bow I’ve ever seen. Gods, he’s so beautiful…the tales don’t do him justice. That shining silver hair against his dark skin, that luxurious mountain tribe tail…I suppose I expected someone, hm, harder about the features, but he looked a soul predisposed to kindness. To be on the receiving end of that smile… That man could do whatever he wanted with me and I wouldn’t complain. What sort of journal is this turning into? Well, it can always be edited._

_Looking at him today, I’m ashamed to say I was envious, which is a poor accompaniment to admiration I realize. It must be so fulfilling to be blessed with a purpose that gives you opportunities at every turn to prove your worth, to earn the love and respect of the people around you. Despite these melancholy words I was cheered to see him. We’re both following our paths, right next door to one another. If he can fight and persevere, so can I._

_So that this entry is not completely indulgent, I should note that construction of the claws proceeds apace and is almost finished. We should be ready to bring down the fields to the Labyrinth any day now._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 3rd Umbral Moon 4th Sun_

_The fields are down! Thanks to my contributions both martial and scholarly, I had the honor of bringing down the fire aspected barrier. What a time to be alive! Granted, as soon as it was dealt with, I got the most wretched spike of a headache behind my right eye, but I’m going to take this as progress. If I’m having a reaction to the Tower, it must mean we’re on the right track. Oh, that I could be the one, after all these generations, to solve this mystery and fulfill our purpose…_

_Would that my father could see me now._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 3rd Umbral Moon 5th Sun_

_Unbelievable. I have worked so hard there are bald patches in my tail for this opportunity, and Rammbroes says I’m ‘not allowed’ into the Labyrinth, and Cid is of the same opinion. Sweet Azeyma, to what purpose am I here if I’m to be denied the very entry I’ve been striving toward these past moons! Once again they’re looking to hire adventurers. What does it take to make these people understand that this is my life’s work, my tribe’s calling? I can’t go back to Baldesion with nothing, I’ll never live it down, I’ll never be able to live with myself. I can’t end up like my father, wandering aimlessly in hopes of answers that will never come._

_I had to leave before I said something to Rammbroes I’d truly regret. Maybe he would send me back after all. Not that I’d follow any such order! No matter how humiliating this is, I must swallow my pride and bide my time. Once the Labyrinth is cleared there should be no reason to prevent me exploring. After all, it’s the Tower itself that’s the most fascinating bit._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 3rd Umbral Moon 15th Sun_

_I have been trying to bear my lot with grace, but it has been difficult to put it mildly. Rammbroes has been recruiting the adventurers who come to the Find for leves, and while it’s not a terrible idea, they’re just in it for the gil. My job is to give them the rundown of what they might encounter in the Labyrinth, and I’ve learned quickly that I need to keep my description as short and to the point as possible. They aren’t here for the history, after all. I’ve taken to adding absolute rubbish to my lectures and they don’t even notice…which I suppose is still amusing in its own way. It’s such slow going as well…most of the groups have only a kill or three to show for their efforts come the end of the day._

_I’ve suffered a few more headaches, and while it’s far from pleasant, at least I’m still reacting to the Tower._

_Still no word from Krile._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 3rd Umbral Moon 22nd Sun_

_These past weeks have been the definition of stultifying. I’ve been doing some advance research, but we’re at a standstill until the path to the Tower gates is cleared. I’ve been trying to speak more with the adventurers instead of lurking from afar, and I’ve heard a few exciting tales…but have the distinct feeling that my company is a passing bemusement to be tolerated rather than appreciated, and I daresay I’ve inadvertently offended a few of them. Perhaps they realized there was rubbish in the mission outlines after all._

_Salted Rammbroes’ coffee this morning, and he had a great laugh about it after he’d finished spitting everywhere. It’s a good man who can laugh at himself._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 4th Astral Moon 4th Sun_

_An adventurer was killed in the Labyrinth today, a lalafellian healer by the name of Sasana. It wasn’t her first time in, and she was one of the few who asked questions about the assignment. She heard the same spiel from me a few times and never complained._

_Asked Rammbroes about the possibility of submitting a petition to the Scions for the aid of the Warrior of Light, but it seems they’re engaged with putting away a Leviathan summoning in Limsa. Cid’s off aiding them on that endeavor. I know he means to come back, but it’s difficult not to feel disheartened by his absence._

_It’s daunting to realize that the most important, driving factor in your life is little more than a side note, if that, in the lives of those you admire most._

_But what are these gloomy thoughts! The Warrior of Light fights on undeterred, and so shall I._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 4th Astral Moon 12th Sun_

_News reached the camp today that the Isle of Val, along with every soul on it, has disappeared as if into the aether. I don’t know what I might record about this, the emptiness is so profound. No wonder Krile didn’t write._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 4th Astral Moon 13th Sun_

_To think that all of my colleagues have vanished into nothing, with no logical reason to be found, and all I can dwell on is that I’ve no place left to return to. I thought I was better than that, but reality is a harsh master. All of my savings have evaporated, there’s that as well. Of course I have some coin with me but I’m going to have to find paying work soon. Rammbroes offered to waive the camp fees but I’ll be damned if I don’t pay my keep like an honest man. Considered taking some leves but I don’t think I could make myself do it, the pitying glances from the other researchers are bad enough as it is. Perhaps there’s work in Mor Dhona, though I don’t suppose I can play there considering the Warrior of Light is a bard._

_I should have tried harder to be social, I should have spent more time with Krile before I left._

_Heard the Warrior felled Leviathan yesterday. I’d write how I feel about that but would only shame myself._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 4th Umbral Moon 26th Sun_

_At long last, the final section of the Labyrinth is cleared. There were twelve adventurer deaths in total, and a biologist of our own who snuck in to document the fauna. There’s an advance party (which I was not given leave to join) deployed now confirming the path to be truly safe, and then the rest of us will be allowed through._

_I know it’s been a while since I last wrote, but between the odd jobs to make ends meet and my tasks here there’s so little spare time, and when I grow weary the headaches tend to make their appearance. And I’m tired a lot these days. I’ve commissioned an alchemist in Mor Dhona to blend a specialized sleeping draught that doesn’t leave me so groggy the next day. Trying not to partake overmuch but the rest is so dear…and I find my mind going to dark places after extended exhaustion, though I suppose that is to be expected._

_In any case, progress! It’s been a drear long night, but the sun always rises to light the way forward._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 4th Umbral Moon 28th Sun_

_Laid my hands on the Tower gates today and nearly wept before half the staff of Garlond Ironworks. Unsurprisingly the doors are sealed, but I’m certain we’ll sort a way around that soon enough._

_Curiously, I could hear—and to an extent, feel—a faint, almost melodic hum emanating from the crystal when I touched it. It felt like welcome, like…like home, if I were to name it. I asked the others if they heard, but they looked at me as though I were quite mad. Perhaps it’s because of my eye? It has to be, I can’t fathom why else I would be the only one to feel it. I got a terrible stab of a headache as well, much worse for the proximity I suppose._

_I’m meant to be here, I know it. For my tribe, for my colleagues at Baldesion, for Krile, for myself, I must see this through._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 5th Astral Moon 8th Sun_

_Despite our arduous efforts, the Tower remains sealed. The initial excitement of reaching the gates is beginning to wane, and arguments are cropping up intermittently about the best manner in which to proceed. For my part I am combing through our historical tomes for any hint that we may have missed. The general consensus is that the gates have a specific aetherial seal that will only suffer descendants of Allag to pass…which makes me grateful that I have not imparted the exact nature of my eye to my colleagues at the site, aside from Cid and Rammbroes. Certainly needn’t supply another reason to fall short in the eyes of others._

_I must admit, about a week ago I crept to the Tower in the dead of night and gave myself a right slash to the palm (which still smarts) that I might place my blood on the doors. Apparently the claim in my blood is too thin, alas, and my effort was for naught._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 5th Astral Moon 21st Sun_

_The Warrior of Light ventured to the Find today! I thought for the briefest of sweet moments that he was come to offer some nature of assistance, as events do tend to progress wherever he goes. Alas, it would seem that he was on an errand for that combined Grand Company the Scions are promoting these days. The Crystal Braves, I believe? He walked past me—as he did all the others—on his way to speak to Cid._

_I keep thinking I should have spoken up in greeting, conveyed in passing that he’s been…an inspiration? That he gives me courage to go on? How does one sum up what a person means to you succinctly in a few bare, terrifying words and move on with dignity intact? Even harder to know that he probably hears it all the time, and his effect on my life is so peripheral to him as to not even be worthy of a passing thought. It is not my place to speak to him, and anyway my clothes are so threadbare these days and with these bags under my eyes I’d probably just have his pity. No, if I were going to speak to someone like that, I should have to devise a plan ahead of time, something grandiose and charming, such that he would have no thought of looking down on me._

_I digress, however. The gates are still sealed, and it’s best I keep to my books._

_Ah, there were also a few minor temblors around midday. Unusual, but hopefully nothing to be concerned about._

_7th Astral Age 1, 5 th Astral Moon 29th Sun_

_It has been quite a day._

_Two individuals—Unei and Doga, respectively—appeared at the Find claiming to be Allag experts sent by the Students of Baldesion, which was obviously a fiction. I would certainly have known them if they were at Val. However, Cid, Rammbroes, and myself have put them to quite the test of Allag history, and they have answered every query with ease. It galls me to admit, their expertise is of a level with or even surpassing my own. It is quite the tale, but if they are to be believed, Emperor Xande yet sits on his throne, and furthermore has made a contract with a queen among voidsent known as the Cloud of Darkness, whom he means to unleash upon Eorzea. There are further details, but I recorded those in the official logs._

_I have a great many conflicting emotions about all this, if I can be honest with myself._

_Tomorrow, we shall find if they are what they claim._

_7th Astral Age 1, 5 th Astral Moon 30th Sun_

_It would appear that they are as they say…the gates opened smoothly as you please to their outstretched hands._

_I never imagined I would be grateful for the appearance of Nero tol Scaeva, but it came as a guilty relief that these two are clones of Allag royalty. The idea that a pair of unknown historians could appear out of nowhere and fulfill what I could not would have been too much to bear. I am well aware that it’s petty, and perhaps my character needs improvement, but it is the truth._

_Seeing as toppling Xande from his throne will be no minor undertaking, it’s back to the waiting game until a team of experienced adventurers can be assembled. It pains me to acknowledge, but this martial endeavor is beyond my capabilities, and I know better than to ask if I may attend. I would gladly give my life if I thought I would be of use, but there is no honor in being swatted aside like a fly._

_It would appear that as clones Unei and Doga have very limited energy of their own, so they will be resting in stasis at the tower base until we are ready to proceed. Shame, there is so much I would ask of them._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 5th Umbral Moon, 3rd Sun_

_Today as I sat on the Tower steps reviewing the history of Amon’s endeavors, I heard music clear as day emanating from the gates. It gave me such a fright I nearly dropped my tome, and from the lack of reaction I surmised the other researchers could not hear it. The melody trailed from a jaunty tune that put me in mind of a bright day to a lovely choir of ethereal voices…I’ve never heard the like. It was followed by the worst headache I’ve had to date...for a moment I thought I might be ill._

_I maintain, I’m meant to be here._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 5th Umbral Moon, 8th Sun_

_I was able to enter the Tower today, but the experience has been one of mixed euphoria and consternation._

_It would appear that the Tower is not of a mind to be entered by just anyone. Unei and Doga unsealed the gates once more that our hired team of experienced adventurers might pass, but no sooner had they entered did they find themselves back outside. It seems there’s some manner of teleportation field just within the gates. After some experimentation we found Unei and Doga were able to pass through the field, and I confess I was delighted when they suggested I make an attempt due to the nature of my eye._

_I was also allowed to pass through, and the crystal beneath my feet sang to me in welcome._

_The confirmation of my purpose is so sweet, I daresay I could not put it into words. Unei and Doga are inclined to believe that it is Allag royal blood that has run through the generations of our tribe. Not strong enough to open the gates, perhaps, but enough that I may be granted passage. When I eagerly inquired as to this history of our tribe’s bloodline, they told me the story of Princess Salina and her final wish. All these generations of wondering and wandering, and now finally, our cause becomes clear._

_How frustrating that the joy in my heart must be tempered with practicality, for Unei and Doga are not warriors, and it would be impossible for me to destroy a legend of Xande’s calibur on my own._

_7 th Astral Age 1, 5th Umbral Moon 15th Sun_

_We’ve had to pay our adventurers and give them leave to go. Even with the help of Unei and Doga, our combined efforts to neutralize the teleportation field have been in vain. The pair have suggested that this is not a matter of Allag technology or aetherochemistry, but the will of the Tower itself._

_When I asked them what they meant by this, they explained that while parts of the Tower were constructed under the supervision of Xande, the central uniting spire was ‘brought into existence in the space of a moment’ by some machination on the emperor’s part. They claim to be mystified as to how this was accomplished._

_However, it does shed some light on documentation from around the time the Tower’s construction was completed. The people of the era looked to the Tower with an affection bordering on reverence, and there are many instances where it is referred to as Guardian, Sentinel, Lighthouse, and other such titles of protection and guidance. I always interpreted this as metaphoric due to the comforts granted by the Tower’s energies, but perhaps the sentiment at the time ran deeper than we all realized._

_But if all this is true, what is the central spire, and from whence did it come? And why is there no documentation of its enigmatic sudden appearance?_

_7 th Astral Age 1, Sixth Astral Moon 13th Sun_

_The Tower still bars entrance to all but myself, Unei, and Doga. The adventurers continue to be cast out, and the last few groups have complained of persistent aether sickness. If Xande is planning what our friends claim, time is of the essence, but we are thwarted at every turn. Despite Rammbroes’ dedicated lobbying, a number of our benefactors have withdrawn their support, and the expedition grows low on funds._

_I’ve begun to see phantoms of the bygone era when I’m in the Ocular. I can hear their conversations, and remember their faces as though they were people I knew myself. I can recall the events they speak of, even though I have never read of them in my tomes. It is most disconcerting, but also very fascinating._

_The headaches are quite persistent these days. Most likely I should stop going into the Tower…I have seen the Ocular a hundred times now…and yet I cannot stop myself. I’ve attempted to record the music I’m hearing in my composition book, that I might play it one day. For now I am always so weary._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Sixth Astral Moon 29th Sun_

_News reached the camp today the that Warrior of Light and his companions have been accused of poisoning the Sultana. He and his have been forced to flee to parts unknown, as the rumors go. I’ll never believe he did such a thing, but to understand that he will truly never come and aid us on this endeavor is…I daresay if I were in my right mind I would be quite upset, but all there is for now is a vague sense of hollowness and wonderment at my own arrogance. To think I had the temerity to believe that we were walking parallel paths._

_Also, today as I sat in the Ocular, I saw Amon walk in through the gates clear as day. I’m so accustomed to such illusions by now that I simply returned to my reading after he went on his way. Sometimes I think I should like to speak with someone about the visions, while others I am very protective of these experiences as something uniquely my own._

_7 th Astral Age 1, Sixth Umbral Moon 21st Sun_

_This morning as I sat with my back to the gates, I beheld a startling vision of the earth crumbling away beneath me. When I closed my eyes I understood that the destruction was an illusion, and so it was with detached calm that I watched a mighty temblor rend the scape around me, the Tower and all before it sinking as if into quicksand. Then the vision was gone, and all seemed well enough._

_Unei and Doga come out of stasis less and less these days. I should have liked their insight about this, but all of their energies must be focused on opening the gates._

_Rammbroes mentioned that soon it will be Starlight, and asked if I might consider taking a break to take part in the festivities. I had quite lost track of time…I used to enjoy Starlight immensely, but now I can’t summon up any feeling for it. Even so, I should find gifts for Cid and Rammbroes, though nothing I could offer them would suffice for all they’ve done._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Second Astral Moon 17th Sun_

_Krile came to visit me at the Find today…Gods, I didn’t even know she was alive, and I’m not ashamed to say I wept like a kit to see her. She had the luck to be on the outskirts of the island that day for a bit of fishing, though the aetherial shockwave rendered her unconscious. She would have drowned had not a distant ship witnessed her boat go under. She was in a deep sleep for quite some time, and upon hearing of the state of the Scions when she woke, made straight for Eorzea._

_I can see in her face that she has endured much, but her sharp wit and positive character still shines through. I also see how she is looking at me, and I can tell she’s worried._

_Regardless of our mutual woes, it was so good to sit by the fire and commiserate with her about our time at Baldesion. She could have gone back to Mor Dhona to for the night, but somehow she’s ended up curled next to me, sleeping on my cushions as I write this entry. Thinking about it, I don’t remember when the last time was that I had physical contact with anyone. It might actually be the embrace we had on the docks when I left Val. Sweet Azeyma, I didn’t realize I was so lonely until now._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Second Astral Moon 18th Sun_

_Krile means to launch an investigation into the disappearance of Val, and implored me to leave the Tower for a while and join her in this new endeavor._

_I love her as a sister, and yet I cannot leave this place. I fear if I depart that I shall never return, that like my father before me and his father before him, I shall ever wander between causes and yet find none that satisfy my heart. I cannot deny that my time near the Tower is tearing me away from myself, from what G’raha Tia used to be, and I know with Unei and Doga’s powers waning we are at a stalemate. I understand she is offering me an offhand chance to work with the Scions, and perhaps even the Warrior of Light…but if I leave, there will be nothing left of the person I was._

_I wish I could do as she asks, that I was a better friend who would not cause her more grief than she’s already endured. She’s promised to come visit sometimes, and no doubt to press for her cause. I can’t go with her, but I am grateful for the invitation and her concern._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Second Umbral Moon 5th Sun_

_Unei and Doga have spent their strength, and as a parting gift, they have granted me their blood and a second ruby eye. I am more grieved than I could ever hope to describe for their loss. It pains me to admit, more than anything I cannot help but feel frightened and alone for lacking their guidance. If I were incompetent at least they might carry on with the task of opening the gates and leading the adventurers to Xande, but now there is only myself left. I will go, I will gladly go…but thus far in every task I have attempted, I have never been enough._

_I have yet to sleep today since I got the eye, but already I am hearing more voices and bewildered by the advent of memories previously unknown to me. I look to the Tower now and see gold flowing beneath the crystal surface, wispy golden motes rising gently into the sky…to what end, I cannot say. I wonder if Unei and Doga saw this as well, but it is too late to ask._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Third Astral Moon 24th Sun_

_It’s been a while since I’ve written, but as the expedition itself is at a halt there’s not much point anymore. I take odd jobs here and there to pay my keep and that’s gone well enough, though I find at times my vision doubles and my archery suffers for it. I’m not sure if it’s because of the nature of my Allagan eyes, the sleeping draughts, or some combination of the two._

_Of course I’m still searching for alternate methods we might pursue to deactivate the field, but there is only so much one can read the same tomes and speak to the same people. On and off we find a few interesting relics in the Labyrinth, but aught that changes our situation. Cid is off on other endeavors as well, though he has assigned a few Ironworks members to the site. Most likely he would return if there were a breakthrough._

_Rammbroes tries to distract me with other little projects, but half the time I don’t think what I’m seeing is actually what is in front of me. He’s a good man though, Rammbroes._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Fourth Umbral Moon 3rd Sun_

_Today I sat on the steps of the Tower and watched as cities shot through with gold floated in layers before me, and though each was represented by but a thread in the pattern I could feel each one in its entirety. I saw what must have been Allag in its prime, and a city of latticed crystal domes, and a ruin blasted as by some great force from above, and a great many more that I could not recognize. More and more the visions I have are not Allag in nature, and the experience is becoming more harrowing than I can bear. I no longer understand what I am seeing, where before the visions were almost as nostalgic memories._

_Perhaps I should send Krile a letter. Perhaps I should agree to go with her the next time she visits._

_7 th Astral Age 2, Fifth Umbral Moon 29th Sun_

_A few days ago, I fell asleep against the gates, and I had what I believe was a dream but may have been a vision. I was suspended in a high place, and somehow I knew that I’d died and been resurrected. I was bathed in all-encompassing light, and covering my eyes did not block it. Desperate to escape, I cast about for the source, then looked down to realize that it was me. Once I understood this, I could see that this light emanating from my heart was guiding ships to shore, children to their families, soldiers to their cause…But in its radiance the light blinded me, and though I were the very source of guidance for these people I could not see to find my own path. Terrified of leading them astray, I found myself reaching out for someone to guide me in turn, and found only air._

_I woke with the most wretched headache, and it was all I could do to take the draughts right there. In my distress I took too many, and to hear Rammbroes tell it they found me there sleeping like a stone. Hopefully this entry is lucid, as I am still quite groggy from the experience._

_I believe I will go with Krile the next time she comes, if for nothing but to clear my head for a year or so. I’m no use to myself, much less anyone else, like this. For now the pull of the Tower compels me to remain, but when she comes, I will bow my head in shame and go with her._

Evi’a found himself shaking as he desperately flipped through empty pages, back pressed hard against the Tower doors in an attempt to steady himself. 

There were no further entries...apparently Krile hadn’t come in time, and G’raha Tia’s pride and shame had prevented him contacting her. 

His breathing hitched. How he’d failed this earnest scholar, this entire endeavor, and he’d never known. He could only vaguely remember the research at the Tower being mentioned by Cid, but he’d never thought to offer his aid, never considered between the lines that it might be needed. On a logical level he understood that he might have been thrown out of the Tower just like the other adventurers, but deep in his heart he had an uncanny inclination that this would not have been the case.

How many such alternate paths had he missed? How many like G’raha Tia had watched him from afar with desperate hope, and how many of those hopes had he dashed with his indifference, his ignorance? That he couldn’t help everyone was a bitter pill he’d swallowed long ago, but to be so candidly faced with the consequences of that truth--the slow, fatal erosion of this ebullient man’s hopes and dreams—it was too much to bear. 

The humming of the crystal beneath him made his skin prickle as he hunched over to rest his head on his knees, overcome with tension and grief. When the tears came he let them, pushing back against the cold Tower gates again to ground himself, profoundly sympathizing with the researcher’s loneliness. Among his scrambled thoughts, he wondered if the amalgamation of confusing familiarity, half memories, and failed echoes might not be the Tower driving him toward madness as well.

Sometime during his breakdown the exhaustion mercifully claimed him, and he slumped over to sleep at the foot of the gates just as the young scholar had been wont to do only a few years prior. 

In his dreams he read the journal, the entries playing out before his eyes as though through fogged glass. He had the impression of bright red hair, a mischievous crooked smile, and where he pressed his fingers to the memories the ink sank into his skin and left its mark. 

It was nearly midday when he woke, dry-eyed and stiff, his cheek pressed to warm crystal. Cursing himself, he hastily rose and fed a disgruntled Buttercup, then rode back toward the Find with as much speed as they could manage. He paused briefly when he saw Rammbroes out and about to thank the man, and found himself asking whether or not G’raha Tia had red hair pulled back in a short braid.

_“_ Aye, that he did...why?” the man exclaimed with bafflement. Cursing again, the Keeper repeated his thanks and made for Mor Dhona. He needed to speak with Krile, but there was no time. As soon as he saw his chocobo safely stabled, he seized on the aetherial trail to the First.

He’d expected to turn up in the aetheryte plaza, and so was shocked when he found himself stepping out of the Ocular mirror instead—right into the tail end of a civic discussion. He froze, wide eyed, as the departing attendees took him in with expressions similar to his own. 

_“_ Don’t worry, we were just finishing up,” the Exarch said amiably, then turned to his people. “No need for alarm, the mirror serves as something of a private aetheryte for my guests,” he explained. “Forgive me, my friend, I’ll be right with you.” The Keeper stood stock still, clutching the book beside him and suddenly very aware of how rumpled and wretched he must appear. He prayed they couldn’t tell he’d been weeping the night before. 

_“_ I’m so sorry,” he apologized , ears pinned with mortification as the Exarch returned from showing everyone out. 

_“_ It’s alright, I should have mentioned you’d be coming back this way, although I’d expected you earlier.” It was kindly said, but Evi’a felt terrible for letting the time get away from him. 

_“_ Forgive me...I...my errand took longer than I thought it might,” he answered weakly. “Is all well? Did Kholusia respond?” The Exarch regarded him for a moment with a frown.

_“_ Before that, are _you_ well, my friend? Did aught go amiss on your return?” he asked with concern. Evi’a let out a defeated sigh. 

_“_ I was in Mor Dhona and went by to visit St. Coinach’s find, where I was given a journal,” he began, carefully skirting his reason for visiting the research camp. “Did you ever perchance know a researcher by the name of G’raha Tia?” he asked, watching the Exarch keenly. The smaller miqo’te tilted his head thoughtfully.

_“_ I can’t say the name rings a bell. Why? Is there something I should know?” The Keeper gave a puff of frustrated disappointment and produced the journal he’d been clutching at his side, too exhausted to bother with caution. 

_“_ Can’t say as I know...I just thought...I read the man’s story, and it felt so familiar... it seems the Tower was intertwined with his destiny, but it drove him to suicide or close enough in the end, and—“ He halted as the Exarch sucked in a telling breath. _So you do know something._

_“_ May I see that journal?” the caretaker asked, tone a touch too neutral as he reached out a hand. 

_“_ It’s a hard story to read,” Evi’a said, eyeing the Exarch as he handed it over, “not least because I can’t help feeling I’ve failed him.” He watched with anticipation as the mage carefully opened the journal—and started with obvious confusion.

_“_ Are you sure this is the correct tome? There’s nothing here,” he said, turning the pages with a perplexed frown.

“What?” He snatched the book back and flipped through the pages, mouth falling open in bewilderment. “This...this can’t be right! I spent the better part of the night reading this, I...” he exclaimed, shaking his head as he took in the Exarch’s openly worried expression. “I’m telling you, there was an Allagan scholar called G’raha Tia, he had red hair, he...” The Keeper sucked in a breath to calm himself, realizing what this must sound like. 

_“_ I don’t doubt that you read _something,”_ the Exarch said gently. “It’s quite possible that what was written here did not survive the trip. Unfortunately, the aetherology of jumping the rift is not well understood, so I fear I can’t comment as to what might have taken place.” Evi’a made a throttled sound in his throat as he stared at the blank pages, feeling for the world as if he’d failed the researcher all over again. “Now, we have had some developments, but at present they are being handled by the people of the Crystarium and your companions. Your aid will be appreciated eventually, but there’s some time yet. Might I suggest that you go rest for a few bells?”

“What developments? Where are Alphinaud and Alisaie?” he asked with alarm, stuffing the book into his side pack.

“Kholusia has shown its hand, but they’ve taken a prisoner whom they are looking to see safely transported to Eulmore before the advance of open hostilities,” the Exarch explained calmly. “The twins are en route to Radisca’s Round, where the operation to rescue the prisoner should take place either late tonight or early in the morning. If you borrow an amaro from Fort Jobb, you can make it there in the space of about a bell. You have plenty of time to rest and still participate if you wish.”

“Of course I’ll participate,” he said, more testily than he’d wished. The idea of the twins fighting without him left a sour taste in his mouth. “I’ll be fine, just let me swap out my gear and I’ll be on my way.” The Exarch sighed, and for the first time reached out to touch him in the form of a hand clasped on his shoulder.

“Please,” he began earnestly, looking to the floor, “your companions and the Crystarium guard have proved their resourcefulness time and again. I beg you, have faith in them, and take a moment for yourself. Truly, you don’t have to do everything.”

To his absolute humiliation, his breath audibly hitched, and though he hastily reached up to swipe the tears away, there was no hiding the truth of his upset. A dim little ray of love washed over the bond, and he had to hide his face in his hands.

“Oh dear,” the Exarch murmured as he struggled mightily to regain control.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered thickly, swiping at his eyes and looking away to the floor. “Gods, some hero I am,” he said bitterly. “But I would do my part to help free this prisoner.”

“My friend, you…you are a hero of unmatched quality and character, and I would have no other for our cause,” the smaller miqo’te said with such quiet conviction that Evi’a couldn’t help but look up—and was shocked to find tears tracking down his cheeks as well. “Ah, would you look at this,” the Exarch said with watery amusement, taking his hand from Evi’a’s shoulder to scrub at his cheeks. “Some caretaker I am, it would seem.” Despite himself, the Keeper managed his own weak smile.

“That’s not fair,” he grumbled half-heartedly. The mage shrugged and gave a little chuff of a laugh. Evi’a stared at him for a moment, a true smile beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth. _How can this fellow think no one realizes he’s miqo’te? He should at least let his ears out._

“Will you rest, then?” the Exarch asked, turning his hooded gaze to the floor. Evi’a sighed, cursing his growing softness when it came to this man.

“You’re sure I can make it in time?” he asked.

“If you leave within the next five bells, then yes.”

“Fine, fine,” he groused, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. He couldn’t imagine that the caretaker would jeopardize his own people, or willingly put the twins in danger. While the lost researcher’s tale desperately grieved him, made him want more than ever to be present for others…what would the twins say, what would they think, if he turned up looking like this? He thought on Ardbert’s words with chagrin. _Think. Don’t fight blindly. There are people who love you, so take care of yourself._ Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to clasp the Exarch’s shoulder, and smiled when the man looked up in startled surprise. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly, “for caring about me.” The mage inclined his head with a soft, sad smile.

“Go on then, get some rest,” he said gently, shooing the Keeper away with a wave of his hand.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered, showing himself out the door.

Later, as he lay down in bed after a quick meal of roast fish and a hot bath, he realized with soft wonderment that he actually did feel a little better. After asking Ardbert to wake him in three bells, he easily drifted off to sleep, feeling warmed from the inside out, one hand resting on the worn red journal next to his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, and thank you for your patience! I've yanked this off the rails a little earlier than I thought I would, but hope you enjoy the ride! If you want you can look me up on twitter at @syrcusgardens. As always, thank you for reading<3


	6. Adjusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The absorption of a second warden causes some interesting side effects.

What felt an age later, after felling another Lightwarden and seeing Feo Ul crowned King of the pixies, Evi’a found himself reluctantly returning to wakefulness in the dim evening light of Urianger’s rustic cottage. His mind was still a bit hazy and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to bed, but for the first time that he could remember in weeks, he felt rested. With a grunt he pushed himself up, gingerly testing his new state of existence with a second Warden absorbed. 

There was a novel sense of warmth in his chest, foreign but not especially unpleasant. Cutting through the muffled glow with a refined clarity was his bond with the Exarch, a bright beam where it had previously been a mere filament. Or perhaps it had always been this way, and only now was he aware of the fact? Even unbidden he could sense something akin to mild panic from the Exarch, or perhaps he was just very busy? Frowning, he reached out to skim across the strengthened connection—and was met with a surprised hum coupled with a sharp, painful tightening . Startled, he quickly pulled back, embarrassed and hoping he’d done no harm even as an aching, bruised sensation settled near his heart. He knew he was going to have to speak to the Exarch about this, though to what end exactly he wasn’t sure. 

He shook his head to re-center himself and elected to leave that particular puzzle to the side for a moment. Pressing a hand to his chest as he surveyed the room, he was surprised to find the air limned with faint, lazy motes of dusty gold. He frowned and blinked to clear his vision but the motes persisted, and he supposed it must be another aftereffect of the absorption. Although…

He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out the worn red journal, then flipped through the blank pages with what was becoming a familiar habit. _G’raha Tia mentioned something about gold motes around the Tower, after he got his second Allagan eye. Could this be the same thing?_ In truth he was surprised with how well he could remember the researcher’s story, considering how frayed around the edges he’d been when he read it, but by some stroke of fortune he found he could recall the man’s words with confidence.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the slightly sharpened sound of the door creaking open to admit Alisaie, carrying what appeared to be dinner. 

“Evening,” he greeted, voice croaky from disuse. She gave a start.

“Gods, you’re actually awake,” she exclaimed, hurrying to his side. “It’s been two days. How are you feeling?” 

“Better, I think. Is…did everything go well, with Eulmore? I fear I don’t remember much of that night,” he admitted as he gratefully accepted a cup of cool spring water.

“If by ‘well’ you mean ‘have they had their arses kicked to the curb’ the answer is temporarily yes, I daresay. But it’s only a matter of time before they regroup,” she answered wearily. “Come, I brought you some of Thancred’s rabbit stew…can you eat?”

He was more than happy to take her up on her offer, and as he partook listened intently to her recollection of how the Eulmorans were chased out of Il Mheg and of Feo Ul’s ascendance. _Seven hells, what a thing to not be able to recall_ , he groused internally, but didn’t interrupt as she went on to speak of the events of the past couple days. It sounded for the most part like the Scions were just waiting for him to wake so that they might return to the Crystarium. 

“Ah, forgive me, it wasn’t my intent to sleep for so long,” he apologized, ears drooping. She arched a perfect eyebrow and shook her head.

“I’ll not hear it, none of us will. I won’t pretend I wasn’t ready to quit this place within a bell of arriving, but you needed the rest and we don’t begrudge you that a single ilm. That said,” she wrinkled her nose, “you are in desperate need of a bath.” He gave a chuff of amusement. 

“Well, thanks for sparing my feelings,” he smiled, and she rolled her eyes. 

“You can take my brother with you, he could use it as well,” she declared, then added more softly, “I think he might appreciate the company.”

“ Is he unwell? Did something happen?” the Keeper asked with worry. She hadn’t mentioned anything untoward befalling Alphinaud, but…

“Oh, he’s probably fine, just melancholy...it might do him some good to speak with you. And don’t you dare tell him I said that.” 

He’d hoped to see the rest of his companions upon leaving his borrowed quarters, but the hour was later than he’d realized. Thancred and Minfillia were already retired for the night, and so after giving his regards to Urianger, he made his way upstairs to knock on the worn door to Alphinaud’s room. When the elezen opened it, Evi’a realized what Alisaie had meant—the scholar did look pale and exhausted. Even so, his eyes brightened to see the Keeper.

“It’s good to see you awake, my friend!” he exclaimed, standing aside so that Evi’a could enter. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better, I think. I can feel the Light within me now, but so far not to any ill effect. What of you, how have you fared these past few days?” The elezen’s face fell at the question before he could hide it.

“Ah, I’m fine, certainly nothing to compare to what you’ve been through,” he rallied, not quite looking the Keeper in the eyes as he offered a seat next to the window. 

“You know very well that suffering is not a pissing contest,” the bard answered, ears twitching as he took his seat. The creak of the chair stung his ears, and he wondered if this heightened auditory capacity was permanent. Alphinaud was quiet as he took the rickety chair opposite and looked out the window. Evi’a followed his gaze to take in the beauty that was night over Il Mheg, and had to admit to himself that he was hard-pressed to name a more beautiful, idyllic scene. Despite the capricious nature of the pixies he found himself rather fond of them, their proficiency for turning invaders into leafmen aside. They sat in amicable quiet for a while, looking out over the flowers. Evi’a found himself grateful that the elezen didn’t openly fret or press him for details on his condition—the younger man knew well enough by now that the Keeper always needed time after a sizable battle to sort himself out. 

“I never imagined as a boy that I would find myself in a place like this,” Alphinaud said after a while. “This has not been easy on any of us, and perhaps you least of all, but I find myself in the odd position of being grateful for being called here.”

“It’s a good sort of place, the First, isn’t it?” Evi’a mused, resting his head against the window frame.

“It is,” the elezen murmured. “I confess I’m…very ready…to put Il Mheg behind me, but it does have its charm.” The Keeper frowned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked gently. “You don’t have to talk to me if it’s something you need to work out on your own, but I’m here.” The elezen looked to him with an enigmatic smile, then turned his eyes once more to the fields. 

“The pixies have had quite a run of amusement at our expense, chief among them having Alisaie and I copy one another…they seem to delight in how alike we appear. And we _do_ look alike, there’s no point denying it,” Alphinaud warned, giving him a quick arched eyebrow that was so like Alisaie’s earlier expression that Evi’a had no space to deny him. Not that he would have—they were well beyond that sort of posturing. 

“Even so, I can easily tell the two of you apart,” he offered, because it had to be said. The scholar gave him another soft smile and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands as he took in the night sky.

“I know you can, and it gladdens my heart more than I could tell you. Most of the time I’m fine, honestly, but…ýou may have noticed, my sister and I have both grown up.”

“I’d noticed, considering I spend half my days with a crick in my neck from looking up at the two of you,” the Keeper muttered. Even by miqo’te standards he’d never been tall, and watching the twins overtake him as the years went by had been quite the experience. Alisaie especially loved to tousle his hair to tease him. 

“I’ll not deny I was quite pleased the first time you asked me to retrieve a book from the top shelf for you back in the Rising Stones library,” the elezen acknowledged with a chuckle. “But that is not what I was speaking of. It would seem our, ah, situation as ghosts afforded us some liberties as to how we present ourselves here, and I have been very appreciative of that perhaps unintentional side effect. It’s given me some time to consider what to do, moving forward, and it’s been nice to be spared the daily tinctures.”

“Ahh,” Evi’a said with understanding. “I see what you mean about the pixies now.” 

“They don’t mean any harm,” the elezen said, shifting to lean back in his chair. “Still, it was a shock to be reminded when I’ve blessedly not had to think about it for a while.” He pressed a hand to his chest with a sigh. “There’s some, er, things I’m going to have to deal with when we go back, but it seems selfish to worry about, with everything that’s going on. As it is I already left you and our companions behind at the worst possible juncture.”

“You had our blessings to go,” Evi’a reiterated, “and none of us, least of all myself, are going to deny you the time you need to do whatever you need to feel comfortable.” The scholar raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“I appreciate the sentiment my friend, but I daresay the Empire won’t wait for me to sort myself out. But then again, the situation upon our return is all speculation at this point, and I shouldn’t upset myself with fruitless conjecture.”

“Whatever happens, I’m sure we can make it work out. After all, we’re all accomplished veterans at fighting the good fight,” the Keeper assured, and was relieved when Alphinaud gave his first real smile of the night.

“I suppose that’s true,” he allowed, then smirked. “Well, if we’re to be exactly alike, at least my sister is also mistaken for me, so there’s some encouragement.” The Keeper narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“I have an idea of what you’re trying to say, and I don’t think I’m going to comment,” he declared, and the elezen snickered. “Speaking of your sister though, she’s of a mind that we both need a bath.” 

“Well, she’s probably right,” Alphinaud sighed, his mirth stilled. “If it were anywhere else, Urianger’s outdoor springs would be a delight, but here...” he winced. 

“Why don’t I just tell Feo Ul I want some privacy for the bath? They’re the king now, after all,” Evi’a suggested. Alphinaud stared at him, nonplussed.

“You can’t mean to call them just for that,” he protested, and the bard shrugged.

“Why not? They get angry because I never ask for anything.”

A half bell later found them both clean and relaxing in the bracing heat of the spring waters, the sweet scents of intermingled flowers and cypress on the wind and nary a pixie in sight.

“...So you’re seeing gold in the air now, just like the researcher in the journal,” Alphinaud murmured, looking to the stars as though searching for gold himself. “I know I told you to be careful when it comes to him, but perhaps you should ask the Exarch about the phenomenon.”

“He won’t tell me, even if he knows,” Evi’a sighed, rubbing at his aching chest. “I’m sure of it. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way he acted when I spoke to him of the researcher’s tale...he knows _something_ , but...I know it’s suspiciously convenient that all of my questions coincide with whatever difficult memories he’s had, but genuinely, I think he’s very sad, and somehow I make it worse,” he said unhappily. “And to compound the issue…perhaps because of the bond, I find myself inexplicably dearly wishing to see him, and even more so now with this second Warden absorbed…but I fear I may only cause him more grief,” he murmured, clasping his hands in his lap with embarrassment at such an admission.

“Hmm...” Alphinaud frowned. “Forgive me…I am beginning to think I have wronged you in holding my tongue, but even before you arrived…well, I couldn’t help but feel that he knows you better than he ought to be able.” The Keeper blinked.

“I had that feeling myself, but he did say he’d been watching me with that mirror of his...did you also chance to think it could be more than that?” he asked with surprise. The elezen pressed a hand to his lips in thought. 

“For a time before I left for Kholusia, he made a daily point of checking in on me, as it were. I got the impression that the others were quick to leave the city, but I remained for about a moon to study. At first I thought it was because he felt guilty about his mistaken summon and meant to make amends, but after a time…I think he just wanted to talk to someone who knows you. He was always quite busy, but when he was able to linger the conversation inevitably turned to you, and the way he spoke of you…” He furrowed his brow. “I thought at first that I was imagining it, but the words he chose, his tone when he forgot himself…it was as though he were speaking of a beloved companion.” The Keeper frowned and stared into the water, mulling this new information.

“…Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he finally asked. “All this time I’ve felt like I might know him, have suspected that he knows me…I still don’t know what to make of it, but to know that you came to a similar deduction would have been appreciated.” The elezen regarded him with a stricken expression before looking away.

“…The time never felt right, and you’ve been under such heavy strain…furthermore, it’s just my gut feeling rather than any logical conclusion, and I didn’t wish to give you cause for distress. And…honestly, I’ve been worried for some time that the summoning hurt you somehow, but perhaps…perhaps that is not quite what’s happened here after all, and I’ve overstepped in my concern. Ah, forgive me,” Alphinaud muttered thickly, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “To lay myself completely bare, I want to help you, and I can’t fathom how because I don’t know what’s amiss, and it’s quite difficult to bear. Oh…This is not the sort of thing I meant to…pray forgive me. I didn’t mean to speak of my troubles.”

“Hey,” the Keeper murmured, scooting a little closer to offer the elezen a gentle bunt to the shoulder. “I’m sorry too, for giving you such cause for worry. But I trust your instincts, so…you don’t have to hold back on your thoughts, alright? Let me know what you think and I can judge for myself.” The scholar gave a huff of laughter and regarded him with a sad smile.

“It has been a while, but I have misled you before, and sometimes my ineptitude can be costly. Literally, in the recent case of a certain samurai’s sword.” Evi’a gave a chuff of his own and sighed, looking to the stars.

“It’s only come to me rather recently that my carefree reliance on you and your sister might have been quite the heavy weight to bear,” he admitted softly. “There were so many times I kept my thoughts to myself when I should have spoken up. Take said sword fiasco—I was standing right there. I thought to voice my objection, but let it pass because I assumed you must know better than I after all when it comes to these things. I realize now in hindsight that the responsibility was just as much my own. I’ll have to apologize to Tataru next time I see her.”

“Seven hells, don’t remind her! I’m pleased enough to let that slide as far to the edges of her memory as possible,” the elezen said with a shudder. “Although I’ll admit I might have reconsidered if you thought my actions ill advised,” he added, fixing the Keeper with a serious expression.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he answered, because what else could he say?

“My friend,” Alphinaud said gently, “you aren’t simple. I know my words aren’t enough to ease the hurt inflicted by your tribe, but you are kindhearted and well-traveled and in possession of a viewpoint that is uniquely yours. You have every right to voice your opinion and be heard if you believe something is being done in poor judgement. And furthermore, at the end of day my decisions are my own. My mistakes are not your responsibility.” 

“And you have every right to give air to your thoughts and expect them to be given due consideration rather than blind acceptance,” the Keeper answered, inclining his head in thanks. “And my poor decisions are not your burden to bear either.” The elezen regarded him with shining eyes, then rose to sit on the ledge and towel at his hair. The water was beginning to get uncomfortably hot, so Evi’a followed suit and set to the time-consuming task of drying his tail.

“Thank you,” Alphinaud said presently. “I’m glad we had this conversation, my soul is ever so much lighter. I think perhaps with everything that’s happened, I didn’t realize how much weight I was carrying.”

“I’m glad as well,” the Keeper said with a smile. “It’s always good to have some time to spend with you…I wish we had more time just to talk like this. Ah, and…if you have any more insight about the Exarch, I should be glad to hear it.” The elezen grinned and wordlessly handed him the brush. The Keeper chuckled and set to work on his friend’s hair, which was always quite unruly after a bath.

“Well, if you’d truly like me to list the obvious…the herbs in your room, they’re your favorite, are they not? There’s an orange tree in the washroom, and you like citrus in the bath. The pajamas were your size, there was a cleaning kit supplied for your violin before you ever asked, the orchestrion inexplicably has some of your favorite tracks from the source as well as some of your own compositions...need I go on?” He asked wryly.

“You don’t reckon he sorted those things out with the mirror?” the Keeper asked, gently working at a damp knot.

“I suppose that could be, but using the mirror requires time, focus, and energy…I can’t imagine, busy as he is, that he’s been expending that much effort observing your daily life. And on a more sentimental note, I daresay he wouldn’t invade your privacy in such a manner, even if he could.”

“No, you’re probably right,” the Keeper mused. “I can’t see him being that type myself.” 

“There’s also the matter of your quarters in general,” the elezen continued. “He might have told you a room had just become available the day you arrived, but that’s rubbish—your room was open and waiting for you, or at least it was when I took my quarters next door. For whatever reason he felt the need to cover up this detail—poorly, I might add—which may be of minor interest.”

Evi’a gave a thoughtful hum as he began to split his friend’s hair into sections for the usual loose braid he wore to retire for the night.

“There’s also the matter of this bond. I never mentioned it, but after Holminster Switch, when he spoke of ‘things we can ill-afford to lose’…I felt such a wave of love and grief from him, and it was very pointedly directed at me. At the time I couldn’t imagine why, but if he does know me that intimately…” He blushed, biting his lip, then winced as the bond gave another painful, bruising constriction. “Gods, there are so many missing pieces here. As soon as I get a spare moment, I’m going back to speak to Krile,” he declared, though he knew this was no news to Alphinaud.

“You might also consider speaking to Cid when the time avails itself. And the pixies.”

“The pixies?” he asked with surprise, then stopped to consider. “Well, I suppose if there’s some sort of odd magic at work here they might have some useful information,” he allowed, carefully braiding the scholar’s hair. “I’m just glad that there’s people to ask…I daresay I’d go out of my mind otherwise.” He paused, an uncomfortable realization taking hold. “I thought before that it was just that I knew him and somehow forgot, but if he also knows me, and very well at that…gods, I’m not going mad, am I?” he asked anxiously, thinking of the young researcher’s fate. _If I can also hear the hum of the crystal, and now I’m seeing the motes…_ “Sweet Menphina, did I go to the Tower and befriend him, and somehow I don’t remember?” _I_ did _read his story, didn’t I? I didn’t just fall asleep at the Tower gates and dream? I was in a poor condition, and the journal was blank, mayhap I…_

Sensing his distress, the elezen turned to offer him a pained smile.

“Evi’a, I’ll be the first to admit I had my head up my arse back then, but I can assure you that if you’d been away helping with the Syrcus Tower expedition I’d have known. There wasn’t time for you to take on something like that, between dealing with the Crystal Braves and me sending you hither and yon fetching whatever I could dream up.” He sighed and reached over to give the Keeper’s shoulder a squeeze. “That being so…if you really want to know what I think, my best guess is that there’s some kind of temporal disruption at fault, though of what nature I could not fathom. I had initially pondered with some distress that he pulled us all from the wrong timeline, but with you half-remembering him as you do, that seems unlikely.”

“…You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?” the Keeper murmured, relieved beyond words to know that he was being taken seriously, that his companions were not simply humoring him.

“I have. After all, I too would like to understand what’s awry here, both for your sake and the implications the truth might bear for all of us stranded on the First.”

The Exarch let out a puff of breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the unfamiliar, abyssal essence folded in on itself and disappeared into nothing. _So that’s an Ascian_. In his time on the Source during the 8th Umbral Calamity, he’d had quite a crash course in how the Ascians schemed throughout history to affect their Rejoining. Even though the mark of their work rent nearly every corner of the First, the Exarch had yet to behold one of these ancient figures, and only heard tales in passing that he supposed must be linked to their existence. To have such a being step brazenly within reach of the Tower spoke volumes about the power this Emet Selch possessed. The Exarch sighed, staring pensively at the sandwich basket in his hands. One the one hand, at least the Ascian was making himself visible and known. On the other, dealing with the man would be one more weight on a scale already in a deadly precarious balance.

But even with his vanish spell in place, there was no time to stand in the markets dawdling…the Warrior of Darkness would make for his quarters soon, and the Exarch needed to deliver his gift ere the Keeper returned. Little by little he released the spell, fretful as always that someone would notice his reappearance. As usual, however, their gazes slid rather disconcertingly over his solidifying form, and there were only friendly greetings as he continued on his way to the Pendants. Upon his arrival the suites manager acknowledged him with a conspiratorial smile and a wave.

“Adding more personal sundries to your guest’s rooms?” he asked quietly as the Exarch reached his desk, knowing mirth suffusing his tone.

“No, just a simple dinner this time, I’m afraid,” he answered airily, refusing to rise to the tease even as his cheeks colored. The manager passed him the room key with an indulgent grin, then abruptly went wide-eyed and froze. The Exarch blinked at the sudden surge of _presence_ and followed his gaze to find Evi’a regarding them both rather quizzically.

“Evening,” he exclaimed, raising one hand in greeting, while the other tellingly massaged at his chest. “Nice to see you outside the Ocular for a change!”

“Oh, ah…It’s wonderful to see you returned safely as well!” the Exarch fumbled, mind racing as he cut a pleading expression at the manager…who raised his brows and gave a very unhelpful shrug. _How did I not sense him coming?! Ah…the aetherytes, that must be it, of course…_

“What brings you here?” the bard asked as he made his way to the counter, studiously ignoring the insistent buzzing _pull_ of the bond between them.

“Ah, well…” _Come now, just get it over with._ “I…I knew you would be returning soon, and I’d thought to…these are for you,” he finally managed, holding out the basket and well aware of his traitorous blazing complexion. The Keeper’s mouth fell open with obvious surprise.

“Sandwiches?” he asked, as though he didn’t quite believe it himself. The Exarch pinned his ears hard and looked away.

“Yes,” he muttered. “I had hoped to prepare something more worthy of your much appreciated efforts and recent…er…challenges, but the day was quite busy. Not to worry, I already…I meant, there’s already other refreshments in your quarters.”

“I…see,” Evi’a answered, and when the Exarch made himself look, found the softest smile gracing the bard’s face. “May I?” he asked, reaching out for the basket.

“Of course!” he exclaimed, all but shoving the gift into the Keeper’s hands.

“Oh, you wrote a note too!” Ah, he’d completely forgotten about the letter, and shifted awkwardly as Evi’a’s eyes flickered over his heartfelt words that the Keeper should relax and rest after his ordeal. When he finished, the bard looked to him, and then back to the sandwiches.

“Brown seeded and sourdough breads, smoked salmon, tomato and basil with melted cheese…roasted chicken with smoked tea leaves? These are all my favorites,” he said slowly, then looked up again to regard the Exarch with a pensive mein.

“Are they?” he squeaked, wondering if he’d gone too far. Most likely, given the Keeper’s flat expression as he held out his hand for the room key.

“Er, sorry sir, but…” the manager said, gesturing feebly toward the Exarch.

“Oh, of course!” he exclaimed, holding out the brass key and wishing that the Tower might swallow him whole. This was very, very far from how he’d meant to welcome his hero home after the incredible achievement of subduing a second Warden. Their hands brushed as the Keeper took it, and he started at the briefest sensation of amused, honey-sweet fondness. _Oh sweet Azeyma…!_

“You know,” the Keeper said with a crooked grin, tail flicking, “I was growing rather weary of our pattern of standing around in the Ocular. Care to join me for dinner? A distraction from this headache would be most welcome.”

“Ah…Would that I might, but I fear there are a number of incidents that need my attention this evening,” he apologized, not trusting himself to look at the warrior’s face. Even as he yearned with all his soul to accept the invitation, his unwelcome logic knew it would be wisest to keep his distance. There was so much at stake, and every moment he spent in Evi’a’s presence risked the appearance of a Foreseeing, even if he _had_ elected to leave the precautionary nullifications in place. And as it were, the bond had strengthened to an alarming degree with the second Warden’s absorption…if this continued, his eventual death in the rift stood likely to have a devastating effect on the Keeper, after all these years and heartache to prevent that very occurrence.

“….when you’ve got a city to keep up,” Evi’a finished, and he started with realization that the man had been speaking. “Thank you again though for your thoughtfulness…it is much appreciated,” he said softly, and after a courteous bow began to make his way to his quarters. The Exarch watched him go, his chest painfully tight.

“If you pass that up you’re an absolute fool,” the manager said in a low voice, leaning over the counter. “Whatever shall we do with you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, a bit too quickly.

“Mmmhmm. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my rounds with our newcomers from the Switch,” the manager drawled, giving him a pointed look before leaving to head up the stairs.

The Exarch stood alone at the counter, feeling conflicted and foolish. _What am I doing?_ he asked himself helplessly. All these years biding his time and waiting to see his hero, and he knew it wasn’t for himself that he’d summoned the warrior, it was never for him, but how he’d craved just the sight of the man, just to have him in the same city. All those years he’d told himself that it would be enough, just to see Evi’a alive and happy.

But now, oh gods, now he could _feel_ the man humming as he brewed his coffee, could just catch that he was speaking to someone else with concern—probably the Warrior of Darkness that he’d mentioned previously. If he let himself, he knew he would be able to realize quite a bit more of the Keeper’s state, but he could not bear the thought. He had not bargained for this, had not summoned the man thinking to avoid him at every turn, only to spend his nights sleepless and so caught up in reminiscence that he could hardly breathe.

If he went to Evi’a now, just for tea and sandwiches, what would they speak of? He knew the man had questions, and that he would not be able to answer them. Would the Keeper be disappointed, angry? He had every right to be. And what of the journal he claimed to have read? The Exarch swallowed, his stomach leaden as it had ever been when he thought of that blank tome the bard kept at his side.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and that he had no clue what it was terrified him to no end.

He’d been lonely any number of times over the years, so much so that he’d grown numb to it—but he’d never felt so isolated in his life as he did at that moment standing alone in front of the suite counter, staring down the closed door to the Warrior’s quarters.

He gave a little hop as said door creaked open and Evi’a stepped out to regard him, expression tentative and unsure.

“You can still come in if you like,” the Keeper said, ears twitching as he ran a hand through his hair. “You _were_ invited, you know.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again when he realized no words could come. Before he could stop himself he was moving toward the bard as though pulled by some unexplained force, and he didn’t stop until he had delivered his own head bunt to the man’s shoulder, fists clenched at his sides against his own actions. _He knows. Anyway, somehow, he knows…_ he thought to himself, trembling. _I can’t do this, oh gods, they chose the wrong man, I can’t do this…_

“Hey, come on,” the Keeper said softly, concern lacing his tone as he stepped aside and guided the Exarch into his quarters with a gentle hand to his shoulder. He stared at the floor as the door creaked closed behind them, wondering what he was supposed to do next, what would be the right thing, what he could live with.

“I…hmm,” the bard said uncertainly, hovering close. He could just see the agitated lashing of that beautiful silvery tail.

“Forgive me, you have suffered a long ordeal and need your rest…It was not my intent to give you cause for concern, I fear I’m exhausted and I’ve been quite thoughtless—“ He was abruptly cut off from his rambling as Evi’a finally stepped forward and pulled him in, gentle and close.

“Hush for a minute,” the bard said quietly, and it was so easy just to comply and rest his forehead on the man’s chest like he’d done all those ages ago, feeling the Keeper’s hands at his lower back and the hooded nape of his neck all the way to the core of his being. Unbidden tears welled in his eyes—how long had it been since he’d last been held? The bond hummed to a higher chord between them, tense as a bowstring and bolstered by their contact and proximity. With a strangled yelp he tried to quash down his end, then stopped just as abruptly as the Keeper gasped, pain ghosting across their connection.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ he began, tensing at the desperation in his voice as he struggled for the strength to make himself step back…but when the Keeper began smoothing a comforting hand down his back his willpower deserted him.

“I know,” Evi’a murmured. “I know you didn’t ask for this, and I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s my fault,” he muttered into the bard’s chest, fists still clenched at his sides. “I never meant to saddle you with more burdens than you already carry.”

“I’m not upset,” the Keeper answered, “…but if _you_ are, we can try to null it?” He couldn’t help shrinking in on himself just a little, clasping his hands together to steady himself.

“…Forgive me for not asking your permission, but I’ve already tried several times… and as you may surmise, the severance was beyond my abilities without dire injury. I’ve never had a bond, but I have an inclination that this is rather more unlike a common partner bond than I first imagined,” he explained in a small voice.

“Ah,” Evi’a answered. “Well, I suppose that means for now we’ll need to learn to deal with it.” There was quiet for a moment before he asked, “What would you like to do? What do you want?”

“What do I..?” he exclaimed, then swallowed. “It’s my fault, so it’s not for me to say.”

“But I’m asking you,” the Keeper prodded gently. “Unless this is one of those issues upon which you are not at liberty to speak.” The words were well-meant, but he flinched as though stung, and shuddered as silent tears finally escaped.

“Yes, I fear that may be the case,” he answered, hating how his voice broke. Even though he knew the Keeper could not see him, he covered his face with his hands. There was no way the warrior could fail to realize what the Exarch really felt, no hiding it with the agitated bond whirring in an infinite loop between them.

“Oh...” Evi’a answered, giving him a comforting head bunt to go with that hand smoothing down his back. “Okay. Alright, we’ll…we’ll work with that. Easy, easy, just give yourself some time to breathe.” As much as the Keeper was trying to helm the situation and comfort him, he did not miss that the taller man was also trembling, and probably needed some of that breathing time for himself as well. The realization was oddly comforting, and so he did his best to relax, to let go his chokehold on the bond and attempt to reassess their situation.

It was so difficult to release the panicked binds and walls he’d placed on their connection these past few days in his terror that he might be found out, that the Keeper would know too much and look to him only in grief. Yet release them he did, bit by humbling bit, until he stood with his head bowed against his hero’s chest, the unaltered truth of his deepest emotion between them. It was a complicated mess of love, regret, confusion, conviction, grief, guilt, desperation, stubbornness…and who knew what else the Keeper might be able to pick out. Despite how arduously he’d attempted to hide his identity over the years, he couldn’t help guiltily hoping that Evi’a felt love to be the most prominent…he didn’t know what he would do if the man latched onto something so onerous as his grief.

He’d thought the Keeper would be quick to crash into him with his own emotions, but found him careful and sweetly gentle as their connection cleared and began to calm. At first he wondered at the diplomatic restraint, then winced as undertones of long-familiar hurt, rejection, and feigned stoicism frayed to the surface, though the bard was doing his best to focus elsewhere. His heart sank as he remembered how Evi’a had haltingly explained all those years ago what he had become to his tribe. How the pride he had felt as a child at his role slowly deteriorated into layers of shame as he grew into a man and realized that he would ever be sought for the gift he might bestow upon his kits, but never loved as a partner nor allowed to fulfill his role as a father.

Despite himself the Exarch’s mouth firmed in a thin line at the thought of the Keeper treading with anxious caution as though the caretaker were some maid presented by her enterprising tribe, that Evi’a should think himself unwanted because the bond was an uncomfortable mistake. _This won’t do._

“My friend, I knew you, and not just as the Warrior of Light,” he said, his voice clear and certain despite the misgivings frantically pricking at the back of his mind. “You showed me life, you gave me hope and courage…and admittedly, I didn’t repay those kindnesses very well in the end, but I always…always…” he faltered, unable to finish and hoping the surge of love in the bond spoke for him. The Keeper took in a shaky breath.

“I should know you. I know I should, and I don’t know why I don’t,” he said tremulously, pulling the Exarch a little closer. The caretaker sighed, nearly overwhelmed as he made sure to keep his hands between their chests. Even if Evi’a had remembered him, many things had changed these past centuries, things that he wasn’t sure he would ever have the courage to explain.

“Frankly, I never meant for you to realize who I am even if you did remember,” he said, pulling back to fix the Keeper with what he hoped came across as an implacable and honest expression. “The whys and wherefores are difficult to explain, but…the lives of so many, yourself included, are riding on the success of this joint venture.” He looked down and away, unable to meet the bard’s questioning eyes anyway. “If…If I showed myself to you, if you came to know me for who I am…and if that in turn causes your Echo to take form…you are not going to like what you see. But I swear to you, my dearest wish is to see you safely through this task…and of course see our joint worlds and your companions saved in the process.” He looked up again, wondering at the Keeper’s carefully neutral expression in their bond. “I know you have questions, and many of them I cannot answer…but seeing as this bond is in place, seeing as you must know I’m speaking the truth about my intent, can I not persuade you to abandon these investigations into the Tower and trust me?” He winced as neutrality gave way to strained regret, and Evi’a gently pulled away and let his arms drop to his side.

“I trust you…for myself, I trust you,” he said with a tired smile. “But I can’t do as you ask, because this isn’t just about me. Too long have I sat back and followed blindly, too long have I let the twins pick up my slack because I couldn’t be bothered to think. I can’t in good conscience continue as I have and allow the other Scions to follow me into danger.” The Exarch bowed his head, exasperation conflicting with relief in his heart. Of course he worried as always at what the bard might find, and how he would react when he did. And yet…he’d desperately feared that the Tower was bending the bard’s thoughts to the will of its caretaker, and on a very personal level it was a relief to find that Evi’a’s heart was still his own to command…seeing as that also meant the affection coming from the man was real. Even though said affection was counterproductive to nearly all of his well-laid machinations, it still made the Exarch’s soul sing.

“Well, I can’t say as I blame you,” was what he said, giving a helpless shrug. “It was worth a try.” The Keeper made a low noise of frustration, his tail flicking to and fro.

“Come on, sit down. I had the tea ready anyway,” he finally said. The mage blinked—he had been certain they were about to part ways for the night. Wondering at the low hum of busy thoughts from the bard, he sat and waited a touch nervously as Evi’a went about setting the table. “How about this,” the Keeper said as he sat down, passing the Exarch his smoked tea. “I’m not going to ask you any more questions, not just because I know you won’t answer me, but because I can see that it upsets you, and because I trust you. You, however, can ask me anything I want, and I’ll answer you.”

“That hardly seems fair,” the mage said quietly, observing his perfectly brewed tea. Gods, even that made him nostalgic, the dark smoky scent bringing back vivid memories that would have made him blush if the mood weren’t so awkward.

“Well, in exchange, you let me go about my investigations in peace,” Evi’a said, eyeing him intently. “You don’t have to help me, but don’t hinder me either. This is important, and I daresay you know it is, and besides that, you also don’t understand exactly what’s going on here.”

“I don’t,” he admitted quietly. “There are a great many years of research underlying my actions, but I’d be lying if I said I perfectly understood the effects of the summoning. Despite appearances, I am not a talented mage, and I performed my tasks out of dire necessity drawing on the strength of the Tower. I daresay-“ He was cut off as the bench beneath him suddenly lurched forward, and then the entire room began to jolt beneath them. They both jumped up and did their best to keep the clattering dishes on the table, wincing as cupboards flew open and sundries crashed to the floor. Then, just as suddenly as it began the tremors halted, leaving them standing tense and wondering.

“Earthquake?” Evi’a asked, wide-eyed with shock as he surveyed the mess on his floor.

“Aye, and not the first,” the Exarch said, righting himself with a grimace. “There was one of a similar strength when you were on the Source, and a smaller one while you and yours were away in Il Mheg.”

“You have these often?” he asked, finally moving to tidy the table—thankfully none of the dishes had been broken.

“No, this is a more recent development,” he answered, brow furrowed with concern as the ambient chatter outside the bard’s room picked up in volume. The people would need calming, and as much as he wanted to enjoy this rare chance at a moment with Evi’a (even considering the awkwardness of their present conversation) he knew it would not be possible tonight.

“Any ideas why it’s happening? Something to do with the Light?” the Keeper asked pensively. “Do we need to be moving more quickly in disposing of the Wardens?”

“I’m not certain,” he allowed grudgingly. “The Light has held sway over the First for more than a hundred years, but we’ve never had issues with temblors. Furthermore, at present only eastern Lakeland seems to be affected. I suppose we should be grateful—a similar quake would be disastrous for the people of Kholusia.” Evi’a blinked, then looked away in thought, one hand ghosting over the faded blank tome he wore at his side. “Is something amiss, my friend?” he asked, wondering at the dark expression on the bard’s face.

“…No. Just thinking, is all,” he said cryptically, his ears half pinned. _Well, I suppose I deserve that,_ he thought to himself with a sigh.

“Forgive me, your invitation was much appreciated, but I fear I must needs speak to Lyna and monitor the situation in the city for the rest of the evening,” he said apologetically. The bard inclined his head, his eyes serious.

“I expected as much. But my thanks for your company, however brief. Another time, perhaps?” he asked, a hopeful smile gracing his features.

He should have demurred, but what he answered was,

“Yes, I’d be delighted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a lot of talking, but god I love character dialogue. Also I've HCed since somewhere in Heavensward for a number of reasons that Alphinaud is trans, and wanted to acknowledge that in this story. Thanks as always for reading, hope to have the next part up soon!


	7. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome visitor makes an appearance, and Evi'a begins to truly delve into the mystery of the Tower's existence.

Even after the stress of the previous night, Evi’a found himself looking forward to the early morning meeting with the Exarch in the Ocular. It would be good to know what was expected of them next, and if the opportunity presented itself, he wanted to ask the mage about how the mood in the city fared after the temblor. He did not wish to pry into their connection, but there was an off sense of sharp wariness filtering through that made him wonder what could be awry. His hand idly wandered to his chest as they made their way across the Exedra, a smile playing at his lips. Overnight the bond had calmed from a tight, painful knot into a stable, humming warmth, and though the ever present sense of unbidden _awareness_ should have been a nuisance he was finding it quite soothing. If he was realistic with himself, he just wanted to see the Exarch and find an excuse to speak with him for a while.

His relaxed mood was dashed however as Emet Selch made his smirking presence known nearly the moment he entered the Ocular. _Ah, so that’s why he’s on edge._ It took a very strong effort not to openly huff an exasperated sigh, though he very much appreciated the twins’ mirrored glares of disapproval in the Ascian’s general direction. At this proximity, masked beneath the Exarch’s outward calm the Keeper could clearly discern his coiled annoyance, though the rattling undertones of a viper waiting to strike were a bit of a surprise.

For a man speaking of cooperation and bridging gaps, Selch was obviously taking a good deal of backhand amusement in blocking the Exarch from their view with his superior height. The Keeper didn’t have to be versed in politics to Alphinaud’s degree to see that there was an unspoken power struggle at play…and that the Ascian believed he could stand against the might of the Tower was sobering. The mood in the room stood on a knife’s edge, and the Keeper found himseIf looking over his companions to find them all stone-faced save dear Minfillia, who despite not truly understanding the nature of an Ascian half-cowered in Selch’s presence. _She’s too young, she shouldn’t have to deal with this,_ he thought grimly, and not for the first time. If Thancred weren’t already standing protectively in front of her he’d have moved to do so himself.

Despite the gunbreaker avowing their disinterest in joining the Ascian in no uncertain terms, Selch seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice as he went on about having a preoccupation with the Exarch’s powers. The mage made no reaction—even the bond was carefully neutral—but Evi’a’s tail began to flick despite himself, muscles tensing in preparation to spring.

Without warning, a jagged frission of light spliced through his mind. The pain blinded him, drove him to his knees as his lungs locked and seized on nothing. As the light dissipated in bursts, where the Ascian stood darkness caved in on itself, the air leaden with a presence too large for the space it occupied—black, writhing, wreathed in the flames of a burning city, a soul familiar to him but so warped as to be barely recognizable. A thousand flaming eyes opened, a voice like crumpled ash called his name—

And then it was as though his mind were driven right into the crystalline floor. He cried out at the abrupt loss of the vision, ears ringing, and when he brought his hands away from his face they were colored with blood. He gasped for air, trying to make sense of the room and reality, unable to acknowledge the twins as they flew to his side and set to healing him. Horror and guilt flashed over the bond but it was muzzled, distant.

“Well,” a voice drawled through the haze. “It would seem _someone_ doesn’t want your Echo to take form, can’t imagine why that would be.” Dazed and blinking with confusion, he looked up to find the Ascian’s hand reaching toward his face, but Alisaie slapped it away with a hiss.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” she snarled, rapier already half unsheathed.

“Oh my, temper temper!” Selch chided, shaking his stung hand with a sigh. “I believe you will find that this little…episode…is not of my making at all,” he said, this time with a pointed glance at the Exarch. Guilt washed over the bond again, and the Keeper was in no condition to make sense of it—but he knew the mage would never intentionally hurt him. “Although you know,” the Ascian went on, “you’re of no use to me in this state.” He tensed as dense, foreign aether washed over him, cancelling out Alphinaud’s welcome efforts. The Ascian’s healing reached deeper into him than it had any right—warm, effective, and thorough—and within moments his mind cleared and he felt remarkably improved.

He hated it with every fiber of his being, and scowled with pinned ears as the man pulled away.

“Ungrateful, aren’t we?” Selch said dryly. “Especially considering that I am offering you the _truth_.”

“I would not place your shaded ‘truth’ over the trust I hold in my companions,” Evi’a said firmly, surprised with how clear his voice sounded after feeling so decimated just moments before. Gratefulness trickled over the connection, dim and overshadowed with pain.

“Trust is _not_ equivalent to truth! Mark my words, sooner or later you will come to realize the folly to which you are being subjected. I imagine you’ll seek me out, once you tire of repeating the same mistakes. Until then, I’ll continue my shadowy vigil. Do at least attempt to be interesting,” the Ascian said dismissively, and with that he opened a shadowy waygate and was gone, leaving the scent of acrid smoke in his wake.

“Are you alright?” Alisaie asked anxiously, hovering at his side as Alphinaud ran a gentle aetherial scan over him.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, seizing onto his own aether and searing away the remnants of Selch’s violating touch, tail lashing as he glared at the empty space where the Ascian had been moments before. 

“Well, it appears that naught is amiss,” Alphinaud admitted reluctantly, carefully pulling away. “He is absolutely toying with us, but for now it would appear that our best course is to continue felling Wardens as planned.” He looked to the scholar to nod his acknowledgement, and the distress in his dear friend’s eyes finally cut through his stupefaction and fury. Glancing about the room he found similar stricken expressions on the faces of his other companions, his bond heavy with concern…and trepidation. He closed his eyes, took a calming breath.

“I’ll be alright,” he reassured, gentling his voice with effort. “It was a shock but I’ll get over it. Let’s discuss what we’re going to do next—I daresay that would go a long way toward improving my mood.”

So it was decided that Alisaie would scout for Amh Araeng’s Warden, while Alphinaud would escort the Exarch to Kholusia and then commence his own search. In the meantime, the rest of them would make for the Rak’tika Greatwood to rendezvous with Y’shtola. He couldn’t hold back a smirk when the Exarch admitted that Y’shtola was disinclined to speak to him…as much as he had come to care for the mage, he could also understand her sentiment. 

“You lot go on ahead,” he muttered as the meeting wound down and the Scions made ready to leave. “I shouldn’t be overlong.”

“There’s no rush,” Thancred said firmly, giving him a curt nod and a knowing look. “Anyroad we all need to make our preparations, and the earliest we can be ready to go is tomorrow morning.”

He watched them leave in tense silence, ears twitching despite himself as Alphinaud shot him a warning glance, and as soon as the doors clicked shut he turned to squint at the Exarch. As much as he didn’t want to believe the Ascian’s poisoned words, the vicarious remorse and shame was telling.

He’d promised he wouldn’t ask questions, and was hoping that he wouldn’t have to. As it were it was quite difficult to stay angry with the caretaker—his hung head and clasped hands the very picture of contrition, the sorrow and heartache near overwhelming. _You can’t let this go Evi’a, you can’t. There are too many people depending on you,_ he thought to himself desperately.

“Well?” he asked expectantly, not trusting himself to say more. The Exarch made a low noise of distress.

“What am I to say to you? Excuses are out of the question, and apologies will never be enough,” he answered, his voice soft and throttled.

“You could tell me why, for a start.”

“Why indeed,” the mage sighed, turning away from him to look into the aetherial mirror. At first Evi’a thought he was going to use its magicks as a visual tool in his explanation, but then he realized with a twinging heart that the man just couldn’t bear to face him.

“The Tower is ancient,” he began, his voice distant and formal, as though giving a lecture. “Older than I dare to guess, older than Eorzea, and foreign in nature even to myself, bound to it though I might be. There are…memories…worked into the crystal, visions not just of the days of Allag but of the early sufferings of this shard, and more besides of what source I know not. Your Echo involves visions of the future but also heavy empathy toward the past and present, does it not?” he asked, although clearly he already knew the answer.

“It does,” the bard allowed, ears pricked forward with attention.

“Mm. I…” He stopped and sighed, quiet for a moment before he continued. “At the time of my binding with the Tower, I was beset with such a dissonant amalgamation of memories and visions that I was…quite ill, and aside from the obvious outward crystallization, I suffer from the aftereffects to this day. It is not something I would wish on anyone. And beyond that…I read of your deeds in Ishgard, saw how…how painful it can be to Foresee the future,” he finished quietly, bowing his head apologetically.

 _Haurchefant_ , he thought, taking in a shuddering breath. _Sweet Menphina, he knows about Haurchefant, he knows what I Saw._

“Did you…the tales you read, was the Vault…” He swallowed, unable to finish. _Was it the Vault? Did they tell you I was so beside myself I couldn’t fight, that in my trepidation and terror I took a spear from Charibert and the whole thing became a self-fulfilling prophecy?_

The room was very silent, and he felt very small—the wind gone from his sails, his righteous anger a fizzling match stick.

“I can’t ask your forgiveness, only plead for your understanding,” the Exarch finally said, his back still to the Keeper, his quiet voice reverberating in the emptiness of the Ocular. “My greatest personal wish has ever and always been to see you safe and happy, and I fear sentiment got the better of my judgement.”

Evi’a stood stock still as love and anguish battled in his heart, trying and failing to process what all of this meant, what he felt versus what he should be feeling. _Later,_ he thought to himself frantically. _It’s okay, you can think about this later, when you’ve calmed down. You’ll hurt yourself, think about this later._ He closed his eyes and took a breath, falling back on his old standby— _What do I want to do? What feels right?_ Even then he needed more time to gather his thoughts, painfully aware of the seconds ticking by, of the Exarch distant and alone, unable to look at him…

Finally, his wishes connected with the rest of him, and he found himself crossing the gilded floors, the mage turning to him with flashes of equal alarm and resignation…and then for the second time in the space of a day, he had the man in his arms.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but it felt _right_.

The Exarch froze against him, but as the silence stretched while Evi’a searched for words, the mage relaxed just enough to lean into him, their connection pulled tight. It gave the Keeper some courage to realize that neither one of them were thinking very much in that moment, only _feeling_ , wondering what was to become of this unlikely situation in which they’d found themselves.

“I appreciate it,” he found himself saying hoarsely, giving the shorter miqo’te a helplessly affectionate bunt to the top of his head. “I appreciate it, but you know you’ve got to let this go, right?”

“Yes,” the Exarch whispered against his chest, then responded with his own unguarded bunt under the Keeper’s chin. Evi’a’s heart fluttered, and he marveled even as he struggled with the sensation of losing himself somehow to something far greater than he’d ever experienced. _This is not_ normal _,_ his traitorous mind supplied. _This is not normal, what are you getting into, this is not-_ He shook his head, willed away his thoughts with a grimace and tried again to let himself just feel. _This is right, this is good, this is where you are meant to be,_ his heart murmured, and he gave a hum of gratefulness as something in him acquiesced and let go.

“Thank you for trying to protect me, for having well-meaning intentions,” he murmured, hating that he had to add, “but I don’t like it when people make decisions over my head because they think it’s for my own good. I was treated that way nearly my whole life, and rarely has it ended up serving me well.”

“Mm,” the Exarch answered in pained acquiescence, giving him another shaky bunt. “What if…” he began in a small voice, “what if it’s for _my_ own good? Forgive me…I’m aware I’m being remarkably selfish, but…there are things I don’t tell you because I can’t, _I can’t_...”he said brokenly, finally moving to ever so gently rest his hands at Evi’a’s sides, as though he were afraid to return the embrace. The bard nuzzled at his hooded head with a sigh.

“There’s a difference between not talking to me because it hurts and actively blocking my Echo without asking me,” he chided softly. “I’m not angry, honestly I don’t think I could ever stay upset with you, but you’ve got leave my Echo in peace.”

“You probably couldn’t,” the Exarch muttered glumly under his chin, and before Evi’a could ask what he meant he continued, “but I’ll let the enchantment go. You may as well brace yourself.” Without further preamble the caretaker crisply stepped back, placed his staff between them, and gave the floor a single strike that rang clear as bell through the room. The Keeper tensed, preparing for whatever sort of unpleasantness might ensue.

There was a marked change to the atmosphere, the sudden absence of a charged presence that he’d grown so used to that he’d thought it was just a natural part of the city’s ambiance. The faded whispers that played across his mind upon his initial arrival to the First returned in force, ghostly voices just out of reach of understanding. Grimacing, he pushed back with his aether, seeking his own means of blocking the unwanted intrusions…and was successful to a degree, much to his relief. For the first time notes of music reached his ears in ethereal melody, and he was surprised to find the composition beautiful, encouraging even. Even as he brushed his fingers over the tome at his side, his eyes turned to the floor to find motes of dusty gold flowing through the crystalline structure, shimmering and alive.

“Are you alright?” the Exarch asked with breathless concern, reaching out a hand to steady him as he looked about the Ocular with wonder.

“I…I’m fine. There’s voices, music…gold,” he said distractedly. _Gods, this is how it started with G’raha Tia, this is what he saw…_ In that moment he would have given anything to be able to speak to the long passed scholar.

“Ah. Well, you’ll get used to that in time,” the caretaker said tiredly. “You may have visions as well, but hopefully they don’t cause you great distress. If they do however, by all means let me know. Spagyrics has devised a special concoction that greatly aids me in sleeping through them if they become too distracting at night, and I daresay they can tailor one to your use should you have any need.” Evi’a turned and stared at the smaller miqo’te, biting his lip.

“You’re not taking too much of that, are you?” he asked, frowning. “The sleeping draughts, I mean.”

“What? Oh no, not at all. I’m not a fan of sleeping overmuch,” he said distantly, the tip of his tail flicking to and fro. From the weariness and resignation that weighed on the bond, Evi’a guessed the man was probably speaking the truth. 

“I’ll cope,” he said firmly, surmising the source of the Exarch’s upset. “You believed in me enough to summon me…believe in me enough to let me handle my own gift. I’ve had it all my life after all, let me work on it.”

“Indeed, I have always believed in you,” the mage granted, a soft smile quirking at his lips. “But I also know it can be a burden, always being the subject of others’ beliefs and expectations. I didn’t want to subject you to…this,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in the air, “but after an odd fashion it is a relief to know that you are thinking about what you want independent of what others wish for you.”

Evi’a could only look on, profoundly touched. He knew he’d caused grief, and that there was a part of the Exarch that was annoyed with him, but it couldn’t be clearer that the man loved him dearly. He desperately wanted to ask the caretaker in return what it was that he wanted, independent of his duties and his cause…but it felt inappropriate, and he’d sworn not to ask questions. 

“I’m glad you summoned me,” he answered instead. “Of course, I’m glad to be able to contribute to this fight to save both our worlds, but beyond that…I feel that this is the first time in a long while that I’ve been able to look at myself as a person again, and not just the Warrior of Light. Even with all this,” he smiled, waving vaguely about the room as the Exarch had, “and this Light resting within, I feel something in myself _righting_ , after years of struggle…and I have you and yours to thank for it.”

The caretaker gave a puff of laughter and shook his head, his demeanor gradually relaxing. “You have yourself to thank for that. Don’t be so quick to give credit for your personal development to others, my friend.”

“It’s when I look at others that I can see myself, the reflection of what I am in their eyes,” he answered. “And while it’s true that it’s on me to take in and make use of that outside perspective effectively…it has also been refreshing to finally realize that my companions and the people around me may not be seeing only the Warrior of Light or Darkness. I…I’m finally realizing in truth that there are people who are looking at _me_ , and…it’s been a long time,” he finished quietly. The Exarch’s mouth opened, then closed as he perhaps thought better of whatever he’d meant to say.

“Then I’m glad you’ve managed some measure of peace here,” he answered with a gentle smile. “I…On a personal level, it was not easy to summon you here only to task you with such hardship, and I’m not speaking of the technical difficulties involved. That you should be able to find some happiness in your travails on the First is…a great relief,” he murmured.

They stood a respectful distance apart, quiet in the wake of their admissions, gold flowing in gentle motes between them.

“Are you going to be alright?” Evi’a finally asked. “Selch made quite a point of being interested in your powers.”

“Oh, he can strut and smarm all he wants, but the Tower spire is far more ancient even than one such as he,” the Exarch said dryly. “He might be able to invite himself in, but he will not be able to touch me here.”

“What about Eulmore?” the Keeper asked, worried despite himself. “You said yourself that you have difficulty leaving the Tower vicinity, and aside from the Ascian there’s Vauthry to contend with.”

“I have had a great many years to learn how to deal with the unfortunate shortcomings of being tied to the Tower,” he said, with the air of a man both appreciative and a touch weary of others’ well-meaning concern. “Selch is unlikely to attempt anything while he’s trying to sort out for himself how to use the Tower to his advantage, and I can assure you, I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve for dealing with the likes of Vauthry,” he finished with a sharp smile. Evi’a blinked—he had the distinct, surprising notion that the mage was looking forward to his meeting with Eulmore’s governor, and that he had some manner of mischief planned on top of that.

“Well, if you’re sure…” he said, a smile quirking at his lips as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I am,” the Exarch answered, and this time there was no mistaking the dark anticipation in the man’s voice. Something about it sent a shiver right up the Keeper’s spine, and not entirely in a bad way.

“Ah, well, that’s good,” he fumbled, ears dipping as he tried to make sense of his reaction and hoping the mage didn’t notice. The caretaker smiled at him again, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he were just imagining the edge to that grin, if the source were his upcoming plans at Vauthry’s expense, or…?

“Don’t worry, it will be fine, and I shan’t be careless. Now, I’m sure you have better ways to spend your day than dallying with an old man, and I also have my preparations to make,” the Exarch said, clearly dismissing him. _Not really_ , he thought to himself, even though he knew he did in fact have things to do and it was probably a blessing that the mage was giving him an out before he embarrassed himself.

“I suppose I should make preparations as well,” he acquiesced. “Although, if I have time I was thinking to make a short trip to the Source tonight. Might I make use of your mirror again?” he asked, letting the apology creep into his tone rather than voice it outright. The Exarch stared at him for a moment, once more carefully neutral, then nodded.

“Of course. I may not be present, but feel free to use it as you wish.”

Two bells later found Evi’a on the way to his quarters, laden with sundries for the coming journey into Rak’tika. Where previously he might have felt guilty for taking the time to window shop and have a spot of coffee while he was out, he found himself refreshed and ready to face whatever Krile might have to say upon his return to the Source. The muted whispers were beginning to give him a headache, and the memory of the Ascian’s touch hung just over his skin…it had been a rather full morning, but something in him had given way, and he felt a better man for it.

“Was wondering when you’d be back,” Ardbert said as the Keeper sidled into the room balancing his bags and some extra for the twins’ journeys—just in case. “Busy morning?”

“You could say that,” he responded, and explained about the Ascian and the Exarch as he packed away his supplies and tidied his room—he’d slept in, and in his haste left the breakfast dishes out and his secondary longbow akimbo against the wall.

“As if we didn’t have enough on our hands, there’s an Ascian to be dealing with too, is there…” Ardbert muttered, shaking his head. “Hold on a tic, did you say you recognized him?”

The Keeper frowned, pausing in the restringing of his bow. “I…I think so,” he said dubiously. The memory of the vision was becoming hazy—partly because he’d been avoiding thinking on it—but when he closed his eyes and focused he found he could remember clearly that burst of recognition, that the voice had spoken a name that was his and yet not his… He hissed as a spiked protest from his Echo cut into the headache already building from the removal of the Exarch’s enchantment. “It would seem I’m not going to be able to deliberate on this overmuch,” he grumbled, rubbing at his forehead. “But I’m growing rather weary of inexplicably knowing people I’ve never met.”

The warrior gave a bark of laughter. “Well, I suppose if you were to have a choice between the two you’d fare better with the Exarch. He seems a decent enough fellow. Don’t know where he was during my time, but by now even I’m convinced that he means well, cares for his people. And yes,” he said, to Evi’a’s questioning look, “I’ve been doing my own investigating. It occurred to me after I told you off that it might make me feel better to be more proactive myself, instead of wandering about bemoaning my existence as a shade,” he said ruefully. The Keeper smiled and nodded at the unspoken apology.

“Well, did you find anything?” he asked hopefully. The mystery of why he might remember Emet Selch nagged at him, but he willed himself to let it rest. _Sweet Menphina, one thing at a time…_

Arbert frowned and spent a few moments lost in thought before he answered. “I think you’ll want to see this…you’ve developed an affinity to the Tower, haven’t you?”

“Er, well, I guess you might call it that,” he answered reluctantly. “I suppose I’m experiencing the same symptoms or near enough to G’raha Tia, so perhaps you’re right.”

“Have any experience as a miner?” the ghost asked, and Evi’a couldn’t help the inquisitive twitch of his ears.

“A miner? Yes, I’m a fair hand with a pickaxe, used to go with our Minfillia back when she was around,” he said, old grief mingling with present curiosity.

“Good, there’s something I want you see. I’d have brought back some of the ore myself, but you know,” Ardbert said, indicating himself with an exasperated wave.

“So where exactly are we going?” Evi’a asked a few minutes later, shaking off the aetherial static of their teleportation to the Ostall Imperative.

“Far South, near a meagre little settlement called Weed. There’s a cluster of shanty villages in the area, most of them making their living fishing off the lake. However, of late some more enterprising Weed folk have taken to mining the nearby hills, and about ten years ago made an interesting discovery. Here, show me your map.”

Bemused, Evi’a did as requested, nodding to a cluster of soldiers as they passed.

“Ah, it’s you, the hero who fought at the Switch and stuck it to Eulmore!” a miqo’te Guardsman exclaimed, and as a group they made their way over. “What brings you to the Imperative?” the man asked, eyeing Evi’a’s map. He cast Ardbert an apologetic glance before answering,

“I found myself with a moment of time, and wanted to have a look at the fishing settlements…Sai-Qesh, was it?” The man positively beamed, and he gave an internal sigh of relief that he hadn’t guessed wrong.

“Gods, can’t believe you remembered me, after all that…here, hand me your map and I’ll mark the Sullen villages down for you. You should try the grilled Xanthic bass while you’re there, it’s excellent this time of year.” It took rather longer than he intended to break away, but he didn’t want to be rude, and he wasn’t so modest as to not understand that his presence might have a boost on morale. When he finally made his way out the gates on a borrowed amaro, he was relieved to find Ardbert just beyond the road waiting for him.

“Sorry about that,” he said, ducking his head. “It felt rude to hurry away, and they’ve been very helpful.” The ghost gave a shrug and sighed.

“It’s no problem, I would have done the same when I was alive, and anyhow I wouldn’t have been able to mark your map. Probably for the better.” Evi’a didn’t miss the sadness hiding beneath the bitter words, and wished he had some comfort to offer—but the warrior probably wouldn’t appreciate being patronized, and so he held his tongue.

“How do you mean to come with me to the settlement?” he asked instead. “You can ride with me if you like.”

“Er, no thanks, that’s not an amaro sized for two, and I’d rather not be sitting within you if it’s all the same to you,” the ghost said wryly. “Being a spirit does have some advantages—I’ll arrive well before you do. Meet me up the road ahead of the town gates.” And with that, he blinked out of existence. Evi’a stared at where the warrior had been, shook his head, and urged his amaro airborne. 

“Are you certain we don’t have to ask anyone for permission?” he later asked anxiously, twirling his pickaxe as he eyed the broken and pockmarked hillside. “Usually one has to be contracted with a company before being allowed to mine.” The ghost rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation.

“You’re worried about that sort of rubbish now? Well, I don’t blame you I suppose, looks bad on a hero to be stealing ore. But not to worry, there are no organized concerns like that left on the First. Most of Lakeland is under loose rule by the Tower, and the Exarch does not police men trying to make an honest living.”

“What exactly am I looking for, then?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“You tell me,” Ardbert answered, leaning against a droop-needled pine and crossing his arms over his chest. “I want to see what you make of this without my speculation.”

The Keeper frowned, but hefted his pickaxe and set to work. He’d forgotten how soothing mining was, his strikes falling into a pattern with his breathing until he was in tune with his whole body and his mind was free to wander. In a way it was similar to the trance he fell into during battle—except with the promise of discovery and not the distant, underlying terror that came when fighting for the lives of others. It was wholesome, honest work, and one of the few things he missed about his time with his tribe. As it was wont to do of late his mind wandered to the Exarch, the gentle cadence of his usual voice juxtaposed with the calm, confident commands he sent on the wind during battle. And then, the sharp delight he had taken this morning at his own upcoming mischief, there was another facet, and he found himself wondering if the man could sing, what sort of sounds he might make if--

Just as he gasped with incredulity at his own thoughts, a pitched ring stung his ears, his arms jolting so hard that his teeth clacked together. Panting and mortified, he was grateful to have the cover of physical exertion to hide his blazing face from Ardbert’s scrutiny.

“Find anything?” the ghost called, and he forced himself to unscramble his thoughts and have a look at his work.

There, in the midst of chipped and heated shale, a vein of purest crystalline blue had emerged. What breath he had left him, and when he reached out to gingerly press his fingertips to the ore he was met with a hum and a whisper of a song.

“What is this?” he asked hoarsely as Ardbert appeared at his side.

“Bluespirit. It has an incredibly dense aetherial profile, with potential to store far more when refined properly into bluespirit tiles. In the years since it’s been discovered it’s become ubiquitous, from weaponry to fancy coffeemakers.”

“And it’s just sitting here for anyone to take?” the Keeper asked dubiously, brows knitted as the ore hummed a familiar tune into his skin. “Isn’t it valuable?”

“Not anymore, I’m afraid, or Weed wouldn’t still look the way it does. For about a year they had the market cornered, and then deposits started popping up all over Lakeland, brought down the profits a fair bit. Stuff’s costly to refine properly as well. These days it’s mined more out of civic duty than anything else. This is still the largest known deposit though,” the warrior explained, leaning over to peer at the ore himself.

“Are you sure it wasn’t around before then, and they only just found it?”

“I’m sure—there’s not much left of this world, and after the Flood what folk survived scrambled to assess whatever resources might be left. Every year the Tower sends out a formal survey into Lakeland to monitor sustainability. This only came up ten years ago, and every year since it has spread. Now what I’m hoping for here is that you have some insight as to why that might be,” the spirit explained, impatience winning out in the end. 

“This is part of the Tower,” the Keeper replied with absolute conviction. “I can…I can feel it, like a small chip…or…or perhaps an offshoot? The cadence is nothing near so majestic as the original, but it’s there,” he said wonderingly, squinting to see if he could make out any gold. The motes however did not make their appearance, and perturbed he turned to face Ardbert. “Several Crystarium citizens have mentioned to me with great pride that the crystal of the Tower cannot be broken, that it absorbs the energy from strikes taken against it. I’m guessing that this must have somehow merged with the local geology to form a new element, otherwise you’d never be able to mine it,” he mused.

“Could the Tower be expanding then? Crystal does grow, although I thought at a far more sedated pace.”

The Keeper frowned, thinking on G’raha Tia’s journal.

“I confess,” he said after a moment, “that I don’t know the history of Eorzea as well I should, but I remember G’raha Tia mentioning that at the Battle of Silvertear Skies there was a mighty aetherial surge from an unknown source. Despite being blasted by Bahamut’s wroth after Carteneau, the crystal growths in Mor Dhona still bear a remarkable similarity in composition to the Tower, or so he said.”

“Then it seems the thing to do would be to compare them, if such a thing is possible,” Ardbert answered, stroking his chin in thought.

“Yes, seems so,” Evi’a answered distantly, pulling out his increasingly marked map of Lakeland. “Seven hells,” he breathed. “Why didn’t I see this before? This is…Lakeland _is_ Mor Dhona. It’s the First’s Mor Dhona!”

“Ah, that does make sense! Considering that all of the shards are reflections of the Source,” Ardbert exclaimed as the Keeper rummaged through his side pack and produced his woefully creased map of Revenant’s Toll and the surrounding lands. Dropping to a crouch, he spread the maps out side by side and sat back on his heels to compare.

“It’s not exactly the same, but close enough…here,” he pointed at Laxan Loft, “matches up with Revenant’s Toll, and this path leading south into Amh Araeng matches with the Eorzean path to Thanalan, both desert regions, so…Coerthas would be Il Mheg…gods, I wonder if the others knew this already and I’m just…woefully inobservant,” he sighed, staring at the maps with drooping ears.

“Well, for what it’s worth I didn’t realize either, and I spent a fair amount of time causing trouble on the Source,” the warrior said companionably. “It does seem rather obvious, now that you point it out.”

“At least we know now,” he said, standing with a chuff—he couldn’t help being angry with himself, even though he knew it wasn’t helpful. “I’ll show this to Krile, and bring back some of this ore. I’m sure she can sort out someone to test it.”

Krile Baldesion sighed as she closed the door to the rooms where the bodies of the Scions lie, and made her way back to her modest Rising Stone quarters with a grey mood that she wished she could shake. Dutiful as ever she sat down at her well-organized desk and pulled out her gold-embossed scientific log to record her companions’ conditions. There was a time when she’d been more diligent and thorough in her writing, but for the past fortnight there was only

_No evident changes._

Frowning, she put her quill down and turned in her chair to look out the window. It was foggy as Mor Dhona was wont to be at night, and even at the height of summer there was a notable lack of noise from the sparse local fauna. The Rising Stones were quiet as well, deprived of its usual comings and goings by the absence of its most industrious residents. Tataru put forth a valiant effort to breathe life into the place, saw to it that dinner was served each night and that their contacts were kept up…but it just wasn’t the same. Lacking in any remaining family, there was a time when Krile had greatly enjoyed staying at the Stones for the excitement it promised, the togetherness and shared hope for the future.

She recognized that those ideals hadn’t changed, that now more than ever she and Tataru needed to maintain the Scions’ presence in Eorzea. But with the research at Val mostly tied up, Estinien out of their reach for the moment, the thus far fruitless nature of her research, and the hushed chatter at the Stones…she would never admit aloud, but she was terribly bored and disheartened, and tired of the somber atmosphere at mealtimes.

A knock at the door interrupted her troubled thoughts.

“Krile, sorry, are you still awake?” Tataru called quietly.

“I am, come in,” she answered, wondering what it could be at this time of night. The door opened to admit the Scion manager, who smiled cheerfully as ever despite the bags under her eyes.

“Sorry to bother you so late, but Evi’a has returned from the Source for the night, and says he wishes to speak with you…He didn’t say what about, though, and I…forgot to ask,” she finished, hunching in on herself with embarrassment. Krile slid down from her chair and made her way over to pat her dear friend’s shoulder.

“That’s alright,” she said gently. “Why don’t you go get some rest, it’s late. I’ll be up for a bit yet if anything needs our attention.” Tataru gave her an exhausted smile and straightened her hat sheepishly.

“I sent him off to have a bath—he said he already had dinner. Started the kettle, if you want to make him tea…?” she asked, and Krile blinked at her thoughtfulness, understanding that she was bowing out more because she knew that they might like to speak in private than because she was tired.

“I’ll do that,” she said warmly. “Go on, go to bed. I’ll make sure he catches you in the morning.” Tataru nodded, and excused herself with a sleepy wave. Krile frowned thoughtfully as the door closed, wondering what in the world might be so important that Evi’a would return from the Source just to speak to her. Lost in her pondering, she made her way to the kitchen and set to rummaging in the cupboards for remnants of the Keeper’s favored Gridanian chestnut tea.

It would be good to see him, to have a moment with him, even if the subject at hand were strictly work related. She had cared for him to some degree ever since she first met him—he was hard-working, kind, companionable, and more intelligent than he gave himself credit for. Then again, all of the Scions were friends in one way or the other, and her relationship with him hadn’t stood out as particularly special.

At least, not until they’d come to rescue her from Garlean imprisonment. Alphinaud—that dear boy—had been beside himself with healing her and seeing to it that she was safe and comfortable, but after a gentle greeting Evi’a had stepped back and watched her from afar. Watched how her smile fell as soon as the others turned away, how she jumped at small noises, steeled herself so as not to shy away from others’ well-meaning pats and hugs. Oh, how she’d wanted to go home, and how hard it was to hold herself together when she realized that in all of her wandering after the fall of Val, she’d never bothered to secure one for herself.

He’d come to her that night as she hollowly set out her bedroll, quietly asked if she might like to come and stay at his house in New Gridania for a spell—he had spare bedrooms, after all. It had been all she could do to nod, too emotionally exhausted for anything else, and they were in a bit of a lull anyway.

The next week was one of the most mixed experiences of her life. She was not herself and recognized it well, but was helpless to right her condition. She stared off into space, found herself outside and unable to remember how she got there, woke up with static where bits of her Echo used to be. The sense of violation was profound, and dogged her every step. She had thought he just meant to offer his house, but to her wonder he stayed with her the whole time. Each morning she found a lovely breakfast waiting for her, the bath was always drawn in the evening, and dinner ready at a set time every night. For the first three days they did not speak, but she was ever aware of his presence—perhaps in the next room working on his compositions, or in the back yard pestering his gardener, or quietly reading at the table. It was profoundly comforting. As the shock ebbed away and she found herself wanting nearness, it felt the most natural thing in the world to climb onto the sofa and curl up next to him with a book, his empathetic Echo gently mending the holes in her own. When she woke herself screaming on the fifth night, he came and sat next to her crumpled form, simply said

“I’m here,” and that was all she hadn’t realized she’d needed to hear. He held her, stroked her hair as she wept, let her curl up against him to sleep—and wordlessly raised his blankets to welcome her when she appeared in his doorway the sixth night as well. His Echo was so good, so undemanding…it brought to mind another she had loved dearly and lost, and in her heart affection for the two of them mingled and stood as a testament to the nature of true friendship. She wasn’t righted all the way, of course, and she had nightmares still to this day…but she would never forget what he’d done for her for as long as she lived, her revitalized Echo ever attuned to his.

“Come in, have a seat,” she said, sensing him before he could even step into the room.

“It’s good to see you, Krile,” he said warmly, weariness underpinning his tone. She frowned, and turned away from pouring the tea to have a look at him. The smile he offered her touched his eyes, and although he was a bit pale he didn’t otherwise appear worse for wear, but something was…off.

“Charmed to see you too, hope you’ve been keeping well on the First…?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Well as I can be, I suppose.” He faltered a bit, ears pinning under her weighted gaze, and added, “Perhaps absorbing Wardens has caused a bit of discomfort, but so far it’s nothing I can’t handle.” _Hmm, so that’s not what he’s here to speak about then_ , she thought pensively. The foreign wavelengths to his Echo were disconcerting, but he had respected her space, and so she would respect his. For now.

“Tataru mentioned you wished to speak to me,” she said instead, passing him a steaming cup of tea as he sat down, enjoying the way his ears perked at the smell.

“Yes, that’s right…I’m sorry it’s so late. I’d meant to come earlier, but one thing led to another, you know how it is.” He set his cup down to cool, then clasped his hands in his lap and took a steadying breath. “Forgive me, because this might be a painful subject, but…I’m given to understand that you were a good friend to G’raha Tia.”

“Raha?” she asked faintly, nearly dropping her cup in surprise. Certainly not what she’d expected at all, but she willed herself to focus and moved to take a seat across from him at the table. “Why…why do you ask about him?” The Keeper closed his eyes and sighed.

“I…in truth, I don’t know how to frame what I want to ask you, but I’m hoping you might have some kind of insight.” She listened, rapt with attention, as he related to her about old research he’d found at St. Coinach’s Find, the connection he felt might be present between G’raha Tia and the Crystal Exarch. She had the distinct feeling that he was keeping some parts of information away from her, and that he felt guilty about it to boot…but she trusted him. If he were hiding something, he would have good reason—it was so very unlike him, after all.

“So you believe,” she said slowly, “that Raha had some kind of connection with this rift hopping mage?” He made a noise of frustration and scrubbed at his face, tail lashing irritably.

“Gods, when you put it that way, I know it sounds ridiculous,” he grumbled. “But he saw the same things that I’m seeing, the same things the Exarch sees, and if the Exarch does know me, it stands to reason that…” he trailed off with a grimace. “Actually, no, I know there’s no sound logic here, but the way my mind slides away from the both of them, it can’t be coincidence. Rammbroes, the research leader at the site, said that he’d passed G’raha’s formal logs on to a colleague—by any chance was that you?”

“It was,” she said, wishing her voice weren’t so small. “I’m terribly sorry to say, I don’t have them anymore, and…and I didn’t read any of it either. I passed them on to Master Matoya for safekeeping.” She watched as he tried and failed to hide his disappointment—he was not likely to have the time to trek out to the Hinterlands anytime soon. She sighed, skimmed her fingers along the rim of her cup.

“Why is this so important to you?” she finally asked.

“Because my memories are missing, because my failure to go to the Tower might cost much more than we realize, because I—“ he cut himself off and lowered his eyes to the tabletop. “I care a good deal for the Exarch,” he continued quietly, “and I need to know why he knows me, and why I know him. And…I know this sounds odd, but I’m starting to feel like perhaps…perhaps they’re the same person,” he ended in a whisper, covering his face so he wouldn’t have to look at her. She took a breath to speak, thought better of it, then took another.

“Evi’a…I’m sorry, truly, but Raha is dead. I spread his ashes myself,” she said, willing the tremor out of her voice as her heart ached for the friend she lost, and the one she was obliged hurt with the truth.

“I know he’s dead!” the Keeper said angrily, dropping his hands to look at the ceiling, tears shining in his eyes. “Just as much as I know that it’s my fault that he’s gone.” She couldn’t help it—she scooted down from her chair and made her way to his side to rest a hand on his knee, tears stinging her eyes from the proximity of his upset.

“Why in Thaliak’s name would you think it’s on you?” she whispered, incredulous, afraid of the answer on a number of levels as he buried his face in his hands again.

“There was…there was a journal. I didn’t want to tell you, because…I…it was a hard read, and you were so close to him. He loved you as a sister, I hope you know that,” he whispered, ears drooped as low as they could go. She swallowed, rested her head against his side.

“I know,” she answered, her voice thin. They were quiet for a while, composing themselves.

“He mentioned, more than once, temblors around the Tower. And…he also had visions of it collapsing and sinking into the ground, and bringing everything surrounding with it,” he finally said, his voice strained. “On the First…for the past few months, there have been quakes around the Tower, and they are only growing in magnitude.”

“Visions?” she breathed. “Did he…did he make much mention of these visions in his writing?” Gods, she’d known something was very wrong back then…he was so thin, pale, and tired. How she’d begged him to leave, and yet even as she pleaded his eyes would wander back to the Tower on the horizon.

“By the end…he said he had difficulty telling what was real and what wasn’t,” he said, apologetic and grim. She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, but nodded—it would seem it was her turn to hear some hard truths. “Don’t blame yourself for not realizing,” he said gently, finally reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “With that bloodline of his…the Tower had a hold on him, and reeled it tighter every day.” She frowned, then fixed him with a hard stare.

“Then why in gods’ name do you think it’s on you?!” she fired back, angry with how he always fell on his sword, angry with herself for believing that Raha was following his dream when truly she had left him in the grips of some fell ages-old enchantment. With an Echo such as hers, how could she have possibly failed to see it?

“Because I never offered aid to his expedition, and if I would have, he’d still be alive,” he said quietly.

“That’s arrogance,” she warned, giving a sharp shake of her head. “You have no way of knowing that.”

“I know,” he murmured, not rising to her temper, “because the Tower accepts me. It sings to me, speaks in whispers and song…I don’t understand yet, but without question, I’d have been allowed through those gates.” She wanted to be angry with him, to scold him for his presumption, but something about his conviction stayed her. Raha had never made mention of visions, but he’d spoken of songs and whispers, of the way the crystal hummed beneath his feet as though welcoming him home. That Evi’a should feel the same…Dread clutched at her heart, but she shoved it to the side for now.

“There was a theory…” she said slowly, not sure if this were wise to speak of, “…that the Tower was a world unto itself…they called it an Age. My expertise is not with Allag, but I heard enough from Raha over our years together at Baldesion to understand a good deal. There is documentation—however sparse and questionable—suggesting that Xande called forth the central spire of the Tower as part of some manner of contract.”

“A contract?” he asked, finally looking her in the eyes. “What sort of contract?” She made a low noise of frustration.

“None of this has ever been even remotely proven,” she warned, “but there was speculation that Xande served the Tower in some fashion in return for the use of its energies. That he--and again, the translations were quite unclear—fashioned some manner of enchanted ink from his own blood, and the verses he wrote called the spire forth. Beyond that there is some degree of evidence that the people of the time worshipped the Tower, and believed it spoke to them. I would be inclined to think it complete rubbish, but…” she trailed off, scrubbing at her face. He looked ahead pensively, brow knit.

“He mentioned a vision he had, before the gates, that he was resurrected, that he was as a beacon in a lighthouse guiding others on their path…If anyone was ever figurative beacon in a lighthouse, it’s the Exarch. I know it sounds mad, but as a man who sees the future on occasion…it’s not out of the scope of belief, I reckon.”

“Resurrection…” she murmured faintly, leaning against him for support as her legs threatened to give way. She’d spread Raha’s ashes, but if the Tower had taken his very soul… As a scholar, her logic reeled against the speculation in which they were indulging, but there were so many phenomena in the world that scholars had yet to understand—their Echoes among them. She could not explain with science why she heard the voices or felt outside emotion as she did, but it was one of the greatest driving factors in her life. As much as she struggled to comprehend how what Evi’a was suggesting could be possible, she knew that to dismiss it altogether would be foolish.

“I’ve seen him in dreams, a couple of times…”he said distantly, drawing her out of her thoughts. “He had red hair pulled back in a short braid, a vibrant way of talking with his hands…I can’t remember him having crimson eyes, but I remember the one that was striking green.” He sounded so lost, and her heart went out to him—he’d come to her seeking guidance, and she had no idea what to tell him, discomfited by his apt description of a man he’d never met. After a moment of staring off at something only he could see, the Keeper turned in his chair to rummage in his pack. “I’ve brought back some ore,” he said wearily. “I think the Tower might be expanding, and I’m wondering if this crystal bears any likeness to the crystal growing in Mor Dhona. I don’t know if G’raha ever mentioned it to you, but the crystal around the Find and beyond bear a striking similarity to that of the Tower. Could you have it tested and compared for me?” he asked, passing her a hunk of striking blue ore. She took it wordlessly, marveling at its beauty.

“And if they are alike? What is it that you hope to prove?” she finally asked. He pursed his lips together and sighed.

“I…I’m not sure yet, but I just have a feeling it might be a step in the right direction. Could I also trouble you to ask at the Find if they’ve been experiencing temblors?”

“Of course,” she answered, carefully stashing the crystal away into one of her coat pockets, wondering again what she should say. Going to the First had clearly changed him, aside from the obvious differences in his aura and Echo. In so much as he was well-respected throughout Eorzea, Evi’a had never particularly been one for _leading_. More often than not he worked as part of a team with the Scions, tended to come to the same conclusions that they did, fought where they pointed him. To see him questioning, investigating, forming his own hypotheses…if the subject matter weren’t so concerning, she might have been more pleased with his personal growth.

“Is there anything else you might tell me about this ‘Age’ business?” he asked quietly, finally picking up his tea and taking a sip, the tip of his tail swishing at the floor.

She wanted to remind him again that what she had to offer was not established fact, but she suspected he knew that already—and did not care. She stared up at him for a moment, then turned and went back to sit in her chair with resignation.

“Age theory actually did not come to fruition until the fall of the Allag Empire, and has its roots in studies passed down by the mages of Mhach and Amdapor,” she began, taking a soothing sip of tea for herself. “It’s said that the Mhachi mage Shatotto was the first to truly grasp the nature of Xande’s attempt at agecraft—if not the capability--and from her machinations therein did the seeds of our modern black magic take root.”

“Would this have anything to do with the Mhachi proclivity toward summoning voidsent?” he asked, eyes still distant as though pondering some great dilemma.

“Why, yes,” she said in surprise. “I wasn’t aware that you’d an interest in the Fifth Astral Era.”

“Red magic,” he said with a bare shrug. “Were they using some kind of enchanted ink to open gates into the void?”

“That was the effect, if not the intent. The idea, if it can be believed, is that via forming certain enchantments over one’s own blood, an ink might be created that would allow one to write worlds into being…but not a star like Eorzea, bound by physical limits as it is. An Age is more a dimension of existence, sometimes with layers of reality stacked within, its borders blurred to mesh into the world in which it was summoned. Of course, there was debate at the time as to whether the author actually created the Age, or whether the Age already existed elsewhere and was summoned in its totality by the excruciatingly specific details dictated by the writer.”

“I’m guessing they never called forth an Age, or it wouldn’t be just theory and you wouldn’t be so worried about telling me this,” he said in a flat voice, and she narrowed her eyes at him before answering.

“Not to our knowledge,” she affirmed, “but they _did_ succeed in ripping open gods only know how many rifts into the void whilst trying, hence the arrival of the voidsent and their subsequent nasty endeavors in that direction.” 

“G’raha wrote that Xande had used the Tower to summon a Queen among voidsent,” he mused, ears twitching. “He said it was only a matter of time before she was released upon Eorzea.”

“He…he never mentioned that to me,” she admitted, an ache of sorrow knifing through her chest. Had she been so desperate, so pushy in her attempts to get him to leave with her, that she’d failed to actually _listen_ to him, to grasp the bigger picture? “I know you want me to confirm your suspicion that the Tower could be an Age…I’m willing to concede that it’s possible, but…there are just so many unknown factors,” she continued, wishing again that she could offer some comfort.

“It’s okay,” he said, weary but gentle. “It’s a lot more to go on than what I had before.” When he met her eyes his expression was soft. “Can you tell me about him? About G’raha Tia. I read his journal, but…as one who knew him well, what sort of man was he?” She knew he was asking for both their sakes, to give her something that she could answer with a degree of confidence, to help him understand by connection someone she was beginning to suspect he loved.

“I can manage that,” she said with a bittersweet smile, and went on to tell him about the stubborn, cheeky, self-sacrificing miqo’te she had loved as family…and had not known nearly as well as she’d believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke with form on this one for a Krile POV, because she has a lot to offer and because I like her :P If you want you can find me on twitter @syrcusgardens. Thanks as always for reading!


	8. Rak'tika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet Selch's persistent presence brings on unwelcome memories, potential betrayal is afoot, and Evi'a comes to understand what he has wrought upon himself in absorbing Lightwardens.

Standing beneath the towering boughs of Rak’tika, limned in beams of Light shooting through the canopy and watching awestruck as an Ascian effortlessly plucked his companion from the lifestream, it was hard for Evi’a to believe that only three days prior he’d been a star away in the familiar comfort of the Rising Stones kitchen. He swallowed, tail rigid with nerves, as Emet Selch had the decency to clothe Y’shtola before her naked form came into view, as the Ascian gently lowered her to the ground. Gods, what a trying few days it had been, and his situation on the First didn’t look to get less complicated any time soon. He wanted to go to her where she lay, but found himself rooted to the spot and watched as Thancred went to check on her instead—their recent falling-out forgotten. That she was in good spirits—even laughed at her own foolishness—bemused him even more, and he found his eyes wandering to the Ascian, who stood back watching the scene with his arms crossed. The man’s expression was so complicated as to be unreadable, and for once his own empathetic Echo had no insight to offer.

He backed out of the way as Runar dashed past him to joyfully scoop the resurrected mage up into his arms. Muddled as his thoughts were, he couldn’t help but smile at her startlement as she was spun around—he imagined no one had ever done such a thing to Y’shtola in her life and lived to tell the tale. His breath left him in a puff however as they slowed, as he beheld Runar tenderly holding her close, the way they looked at one another as they spoke just quietly enough that no one could hear. His heart ached with bittersweet joy at the sight of them.

Sweet Menphina, he missed the Exarch.

He was also worried sick for the man, even though he was sure the caretaker could handle himself and the bond didn’t suggest any trouble. With the Eulmorans so quickly come to establish control over Rak’tika, he could only wonder at the situation in Lakeland, how the Exarch’s meeting with Vauthry had fared. That the Eulmorans had turned and fled at the loss of Ranjit offered him some hope, and surely Alphinaud would have called if anything went awry? He wanted to fire up the linkpearl and ask anyway, but to do so felt like a lack of faith—especially when the Exarch clearly believed the meeting was safe to attend, and that he placed so much faith in Evi’a’s skill as well. Also the caretaker had been handling diplomacy on the First for a good hundred years with what appeared to be negligible outside help. No, it wouldn’t do to call Alphinaud, and he was certainly in no position to leave for a bit to check on things himself.

He watched, unease clouding his heart as Y’shtola gave the Ascian what appeared to be her genuine thanks, then quickly moved on to address their entry to the Qitana Ravel.

“I’m…going to go for a walk for a bit,” he said, tail flicking anxiously as the Scions made ready to leave for Fanow. He could see that Y’shtola needed rest, despite what she professed, and also that Runar might appreciate some time with her—the least he could do would be to give them some space. Besides that, the conversation he’d accidentally eavesdropped upon would not leave him be, and he needed a moment away. Whether or not he would actually be granted that respite was another story. No…he was nigh certain he would not be left alone, but was determined to go anyway.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Minfilia asked, and though her eyes did not move to Emet Selch, he gathered what she meant.

“I’ll be fine,” he answered warmly, hoping he sounded genuine, abashed at being caught at his odd whims so easily by a child. “I just need to clear my head.” Thancred shot him a dubious look, but without further ado they turned and made their way back toward the village. He watched them go, not blaming them for wondering what he was about—in truth, he wasn’t so sure himself.

As expected, Emet Selch did not move to join them. Evi’a stared at the man for a moment, sighed, and turned around to follow the vivid azure floral pathway deeper into the forest, birdsong pricking at his sensitive ears. Within moments, the much taller Ascian fell into step beside him—just as the Keeper had predicted he would. 

“What, nothing to say?” Selch complained. “I _did_ just save your friend after all. Very kind, very benevolent. Thought that’s what you heroic types went for.”

“My thanks,” he bit off, and he did mean it, and felt very odd about his own sincerity. “But obviously, you’re expecting something in return in the future.”

“Oh, I always want something, and I do tend to get what I want…but frankly, there’s not much you lot can offer that I don’t already have,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I do hold out some hope that you might be made to see reason about the Rejoining, but at the end of the day it’s not going to matter either way.”

“Then why are you following us around?” he asked irritably, lithely jumping over a waist-high mossy root blocking the path.

“Because nothing is happening—“ Selch stopped to awkwardly pivot over the offending obstacle, “—and I’m dreadfully bored. Generally speaking you lot does provide some entertainment, and today at least you did not disappoint.” Evi’a scowled and picked up his pace, but the Ascian kept up effortlessly. “What’s wrong with you anyway, absorptions getting to you? Shock of seeing a comrade returned to life? Granted, that must be quite a thing to witness.”

“Why do you care?” Evi’a asked bitterly, hopping another root. “Seeing as what we do doesn’t matter at the end of the day anyway.”

“What, you think because I’m the most powerful being to set foot on this star that I’m incapable of caring about people? I could crush anyone on this blighted rock with a half a thought—that doesn’t mean I will, or that I wish to.”

“Why not?” he fired back testily, tail lashing as he eyed a rather promising hanging limb with low trailing vines. “If you kill everyone you’re one step closer to your great Rejoining. Or is it that you enjoy toying with all of us first?” He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he felt it likely that while the Ascian was a force with which to be contended, the man was not actually capable of what he claimed. The Exarch had also mentioned that Emet Selch would not be able to lay hands on him within the Crystarium. There was no question however that the Ascian had powers bordering on godlike—so why wasn’t he using them to further his purpose?

“I told you,” Selch said with weary exasperation, “I am an observer, as I have been for quite a long while now. Anyway, why should I put forth an effort when others will do that work for—oh, could you not?” he sighed as Evi’a pulled his way up into the thick branches and climbed higher. He was under no illusions that it would grant him reprieve, and sure enough, within moments Selch was seated on the branch above him, eyeing him sardonically. With a huff, the Keeper gave up his ascent and leaned back against the mighty trunk, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you going to sulk now? Not so becoming for such a warrior.” The Keeper pursed his lips and stared into the distance, refusing to rise to such a petty insult. Even days later, he couldn’t shake how it felt to have the Ascian’s aether touch him…and that he was beginning to consider that he might be in the wrong for his disgust made him feel even worse.

“Why would you think I would wish to speak with you?” he finally asked, refusing to look at the Ascian. “Your machinations have literally killed millions. You are the polar opposite of everything I stand for and hold dear.”

“I believe we have different notions about what it means to kill,” Selch said simply. “What our people are working toward is true unity, the righting of creation…you just don’t realize it yet. But let’s suppose it is as you say and I’ve killed people…have you not also murdered for your cause?”

“I have fought to protect the innocent—a far cry from the genocide you’ve perpetuated over the years,” he said in a low voice, refusing to be baited.

“Oh, the innocent, is it? I take it you don’t mean the beast tribes then. You know, driven from their rightful lands by your people, subjected to rampant racism, hunted mercilessly? The gods they summon in hunger and desperation slain by your hand?” He couldn’t help but pin his ears and glower…the Ascian was not entirely wrong, but certainly not in the full right…he just didn’t know how to go about arguing his case, and it bothered him that he should have to in the first place. “Very wise,” Selch said approvingly. “You would not have won that debate, believe me.”

Just for the briefest of moments he darted a glare at the Ascian, and had to suck in a breath as an unwelcome sensation of familiarity nearly overwhelmed him. The vision he had in the Ocular came to mind, faded around the edges, but he didn’t need clarity to remember how it felt to see it the first time. The transmogrified Ascian had called his name, a name that had never left his own lips but that he felt to the core of his being. Even now he could not comprehend it well enough to repeat it, but it defined him to his soul. To have been designated so intimately by one so corrupted…he couldn’t help but shudder at the memory. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree and willed himself to relax, to still the angry confusion buzzing like a hornet beneath his skin.

“We knew each other, didn’t we?” he asked, proud of how even his voice came out. “A long time ago.”

For a while, Selch did not answer, and when Evi’a finally opened his eyes to look he found the man staring distantly through the canopy, elbows on his knees and fingers laced beneath his chin. That too was familiar, though not in the same way as the Exarch was familiar. This was something so ephemeral and faded as to almost feel imagined, whereas his memories of the Exarch—if indeed they were memories—were more near and pressing. 

“What makes you ask?” Selch finally appealed, turning golden eyes to regard him pensively. “Memory? Vision, perhaps?” Evi’a stared back, disinclined to reply—if the man didn’t know, probably for the better. The Ascian raised his eyebrows, then turned his gaze back to the trees. “If that’s how it is, I don’t think I’ll be answering.”

“Refusal to answer is an answer in itself,” the Keeper said quietly, unsure of what to do with this new information and well aware that now was not the time to tackle the implications. With a grunt, Selch pushed himself up to stand, dusted off his coat.

“Charming as this has been, I do have other people to spy on. Take care with the Ravel Warden, it wouldn’t do to have you overwhelmed now,” Selch said laconically, opening a shadowy waygate with a lazy wave of his hand. He turned to step through, halted, then looked over his shoulder to the Keeper. “Your crystalline friend is fine, by the way, gave Vauthry quite an exemplary dressing-down. I’m almost jealous,” he said, a smile quirking at his lips. Then the gate billowed closed, leaving the Keeper to stare on in apprehensive bewilderment. 

The Ascian’s parting words stuck with him, added to the long list of worries piling up in the back of his mind as he raced with the Scions through the Ravel in pursuit of the Rak’tika Warden.

“Watch out!” Thancred shouted, and before he could gather his wits, a great corrupted primate tumbled heavily down into a heap before him from the branches above—felled with a single shot by the ever vigilant gunbreaker. “Are you alright?” the man called over his shoulder, already engaged with another pack of slavering eaters. Evi’a started and gripped his bow, embarrassed and shaken. Y’shtola flashed him a sharply questioning glance, and with a scowl he nocked an arrow and rejoined the fray.

His battle high wasn’t kicking in, and where he normally moved gracefully and effortlessly, he was struggling to keep up, his breath short and his heart hammering a staccato in his throat. He could only hope his dismay didn’t show on his face…gods, even Minfillia looked more fierce than he felt right now. He both wished the twins were with him as backup and was grateful they were not present to witness this display.

Selch’s words nagged at him, but more than that, his stomach grew ever more leaden knowing that his friends were arguing about his condition behind closed doors, that Y’shtola knew something was wrong, that Urianger was hiding important knowledge…and thus far, neither one of them had seen fit to say anything to him about it. To know that to Y’shtola’s aetherial gift, his soul appeared so warped as to be unrecognizable, that she couldn’t bear to tell him…he shivered, and once more his arrow missed its mark to lodge uselessly in a tree. Furthermore, the mage had implied that whatever Urianger was hiding was at the Exarch’s behest. He grit his teeth as he readied his bow once more, thinking on what the Ascian had said to him in the Ocular the day the enchantment lifted… _Mark my words, sooner or later you will come to realize the folly to which you are being subjected._

He gasped, panting as he barely dodged a sin eater’s snapping maw, whirled around and put an arrow in its back before it could try again. He swallowed as it screamed and dissipated into brilliant sparks of light, lifting gently away on the wind. That his friends, his friends who were as family to him, could be using him, hiding things from him for his own good, that the Exarch—so desperately wanted, the bond pulled excruciatingly thin with distance—that the Exarch might yet be doing the same… He nocked another arrow, fired again, fangs bared and ears pinned as another eater fell.

He was afraid. For the first time since he’d set foot on the First, he was frightened, suffocated with the dread of betrayal, which in turn brought up shameful memories of his unwitting use at the hands of his tribe. It was all he could do not to panic then and there—it was too late for that, already in the midst of the Ravel and him the only one who could subdue the Warden. If he gave in to terror and fled, his companions would surely be taken, and he would never forgive himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that he’d thrown fuel on the fire with his poor decision to speak to the Ascian, but what was done was done. _It’s too late,_ he kept telling himself desperately. _Keep going, don’t stop, it’s too late._

Finally, after what felt an interminable, miserable fight both with his strangling panic and the Warden, Eros lay vanquished and silent, bits of its hulking form flaking away into dapples of light against the trees. He stood transfixed, well aware of the expectant, worried gazes of the Scions boring into his back.

What was he really bringing upon himself in absorbing the Wardens? What was it that his companions were keeping from him? Would he ever be able to see his kits again after this? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, did his best to let some modicum of calm take him. It was always blissfully quiet after battle, and to his relief he found his mind settling just enough to think with at least a fragile clarity. Slowly, he brought up a hand to rest at his chest where the bond pulled painfully tight, and with concentrated focus, for the first time in several days he could discern a weak stream of anguished love trickling through the connection. He took in another shaky sigh, tears pricking at his eyes.

Whatever it was that he was being subjected to, he knew the Exarch loved him. How desperate the caretaker had been to make sure Evi’a thought the cause through before accepting, how often he’d apologized for the summoning, how he’d struggled to keep his distance…and at last the Keeper was beginning to understand why. He smiled sadly, ran his fingers over the black flowers in his hair. Well, it wasn’t as though he could stop now, and if what Urianger claimed to have seen was true, in absorbing the Wardens he was fighting for his own life as well…such as it was, at this rate. Furthermore, as suspicious as everything seemed, he knew that the Exarch had been sincere when he spoke of wishing to see him happy and safe. Perhaps…perhaps that was a wish that could not be granted, but that the caretaker wanted it so dearly was enough. It had to be.

Heavy and resolute, he reached out and snapped the bonds chaining the Light to its physical form, and when the blinding orb meandered toward him, he numbly accepted it without hesitation. For the first time the entity burned as it entered and sank into him, a weighted, uncomfortable pressure roiling lazily within. There was a sensation as of a bubble being pricked across his mind, and then the sounds of the forest sharpened into jagged, cacophonous distinction. White flared at the edges of his vision.

For a time, he didn’t know anything. He found himself in a cavernous room, staring down the a painting of a burning city that gradually shimmered to life. Lethargically he watched as balls of fire slammed into ink black structures, their myriad lighted windows flickering to dimness as tiny figures in the streets below fled before certain doom. Through the haze he recognized the voice of Emet Selch, turned to find the Ascian telling a story of Hydaelyn and Zodiark, of creation and tempering. The Keeper tilted his head quizzically as he looked at the man, dressed in simple black robes, younger than he’d ever appeared previously. He knew those golden eyes, that pedantic tone Selch took when he believed he was right about something. The Architect used to be so genial, so brilliant, his multifaceted personality made manifest in Amaurot’s glorious skyline, wrought by his hands…what in the firmament’s name had that Primal done to make him so desperate, so hellbent on feeding his own beloved people to a monster that would never be satisfied? They’d argued, and then he’d left for parts unknown while the Convocation sacrificed ever more souls to Zodiark. He blinked, peered at the Ascian again. Where was the Convocation?

When he came to again he was in a darkened room, and when he sat up in a panic to ascertain his surroundings, a hand gently clasped at his shoulder.

“Easy,” Y’shtola commanded, her voice blessedly soft. “I’ll get you some water, don’t try to get up.” It was then that he registered the headache cleaving through his skull, so sharp and dire that he had to turn away from her and retch. There was nothing to come up, however, and he felt too miserable to be embarrassed. “Here,” she said after a moment, and he shuddered as she looped a cool, damp towel around his neck. It brought him back to himself, if only a touch, and when he reached out for the cup she offered his hands didn’t shake near as much as he’d thought they would. “There’s herbs ground in to help with the pain, try to drink it all if you can,” she murmured. It was a struggle, and all he could do to hold the liquid down, but he managed in the end. She took the cup from his trembling hands and gently removed the towel. “Lie down and get some rest,” she ordered, and without even a thought of questioning he obeyed. The last thing he registered before his consciousness fell away was a comforting hand smoothing down his ears.

When next he woke he found himself in the same darkened room. He felt light-headed and groggy, but more himself than he had been since absorbing the Warden. The headache was gone, for a relief, although the weight in his chest had yet to fade. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to. He reached out to nudge experimentally at the bond, gasped when he realized that it was no longer a thread or beam, just _present._ With little more than a spare thought he could feel that the Exarch was deep in concentration on some form of mathematical quandary, in a rather messy room that appeared to be a study. He wasn’t sure if he found that precise knowledge welcome or not, and after a brief conflict with himself was able to let the image fade into the background of his mind.

With some effort he pushed himself up to sit, stared blankly into space as he tried to remember what happened after the battle. He remembered the burning in his chest, had a vague recollection of Emet Selch and some murals…but that was all. The painfully amplified squeal of the door’s hinges as it opened to admit Y’shtola had him reaching up to clutch at his smarting ears—it was so much worse than with the second absorption, and with two more to go…He took a breath, willed himself to set that aside as well. He could do this, he could. He just needed to let this one settle a bit more.

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly, padding over to gracefully drop into a crouch at his bedside.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted croakily, “but I’ll live.” Her lips quirked at the corners, but her brows were knit with worry.

“I’ve some of Runar’s leftover stew…you really should eat,” she murmured. He nodded wordlessly—he didn’t feel hungry, but it was probably because he was beyond ravenous by that point. He winced again as the cutlery chinked against the shallow bowl when it was passed to him, and she frowned. “Your hearing is troubled,” she said, and he nodded again, blinking against another wave of lightheadedness. “I think I might be able to help—may I try?” He looked to her with groggy surprise—he’d never considered that the symptom might somehow be alleviated.

“Be my guest,” he muttered, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He was rather enjoying the darkness, and did not care to be blinded by magicks at the moment. Her aether was soft and warm as it brushed at his ears, sank in and gently explored. He shied away with a yelp, pinned his ears as a bolt of white-hot pain lanced through his head, and she reached out a hand to clasp at his wrist and steady him.

“Easy, I’ve almost got it,” she reassured, and then there was a muffling sensation as the ambient sounds of the room fell to normal levels. “How’s that?” she asked, eyeing him with concern.

“Much better, my thanks,” he gasped fervently, pricking his ears this way as he tested his renewed hearing. They had ached one way or the other ever since the second absorption, but he’d learned to push it to the back of his mind and live with it. The absence of that dull background pain was such a sweet comfort, and he shifted in his blankets, suddenly feeling foolish for not speaking up sooner. Y’shtola flashed him a brief smile, then rose and made her way to the rough-hewn table to pour them some water from a simple clay pitcher. He watched her thoughtfully as she went about her work. Despite the sharp words she’d spoken to Thancred, the bluntness with which she’d advised Minfilia…he could see that the First had softened the Seeker around the edges. There was a gentleness to her movement that he’d never seen before, a warm flame in her tones when she spoke of Runar and the Night’s Blessed. When she offered him a cup, he took it gratefully and drank deep, the cool clearness welcome and refreshing.

Even if he was being lied to by people he loved, the First was a good place with good people, and it was worth saving.

As he had in Il Mheg, he sat and ate his stew in silence as Y’shtola recounted to him the details of what transpired after the battle, of Emet Selch and his incredible story of Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Vague recognition tugged at his mind, but he sighed and let it go—he was in no state at the moment to fight irksome half memories, and Y’shtola had no reason to paint the story differently for him.

“Do you believe him?” he asked as she finished. She frowned and tilted her head to the side.

“It is quite the tale, isn’t it? And not outside the realm of possibility, I’ll grant, but forgive me if I bear some suspicion toward the words of an Ascian. Now,” she continued crisply, “there is something I would speak of with you, if you feel well enough to heed me.”

“I heard you arguing with Urianger,” he said simply, and her ears half-pinned with shock.

“Well…I can imagine that was not the most welcome manner in which to come by that information,” she answered wryly.

“It was not,” he said firmly, looking her in the eyes. She might not be able to see him, but he knew that she felt it nonetheless. She closed her eyes and sighed. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Evi’a,” she said, sincere regret evident in her voice. “I fear you have suffered for my clumsiness. Perhaps the years in the forest have dulled my judgement after all.” He wasn’t going to say it was fine, because it certainly wasn’t, but all the same it was good to hear the apology.

“I’m glad you’ve found happiness out here, all the same,” he replied instead. “So…you believe I’m just storing all of that Light within me?”

“It is not a matter of belief--I know. You burn bright as a beacon, blinding with the corrupted Light of three felled Wardens. Frankly, it is difficult to look upon you.”

“Ah, good to know,” he said blandly, and took another draught of water. Gods, he was so _thirsty_. She gave a hum of distressed frustration, refilled his cup.

“Don’t expect me to color this to make it more palatable, I don’t think I’m capable,” she warned as she set the pitcher aside. “That said, for years I have regarded you as a dear companion, and if I am straightforward, it is only because I wish you to have a clear understanding of what you’re undertaking moving forward.”

“I know,” he murmured. “And I believe I’m beginning to gather what I have to do.” She considered him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

“How are you feeling, aside from the hearing issues?” she asked. He blinked—that wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting, and he had to think about it for a moment.

“Weak,” he admitted, “although I suppose that might be because I slept for two days.” She looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. “I can feel the Light within me now, and…there’s some ache, between the weight of it and the bond with the Exarch. My vision is a bit sharp? I’m not certain what you’re waiting for me to say.”

“I’m not waiting for you to say anything,” she said, with more of that gentleness she seemed to have picked up somewhere in the Greatwood. “I wanted to know how you fare. You’re going to need to rest more after this, and we’re all going to have to make sure that you do so.” He stared at her, bit his lip and looked away as his heart clenched painfully. It shamed him that he’d worried over their betrayal. 

“I don’t think there’s going to be time for that,” he whispered, unable to look at her.

“Perhaps not always, but we’ll expect you to rest when there is,” she said with more characteristic archness. “You must tell me if anything changes with your condition. Much as I wish it weren’t so, you are in grave danger, and early preventative action is wiser than late,” she said, reaching out to flick at his ear. He twitched them sheepishly and finally offered her a tired smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised, and she gave a curt nod. “Now, there’s one other thing…pray tell, how did you come by this bond with the Exarch? I’m assuming it’s not conventional, or you truly have been busy these past moons.” She listened intently, fingers steepled under her chin, as he recounted the caretaker’s explanation of how the bond came about, how it had expanded with each absorption.

“That is worrisome indeed,” she said once he’d finished. She paused, pressed her knuckles to her lips in thought. “I have made no secret of the fact that he has lost my trust, but I can tell from the way you speak of him that he has become dear to you, regardless of the means in which this bond was established.” He blushed and ducked his head, tail flicking beneath the sheets.

“I do tend to find my thoughts wandering to him, but it’s not like…that,” he said. _Was it?_ She raised a brow at him skeptically.

“At any rate, I would advise you to exercise caution. Aside from his proclivity for half-truths and serendipity, there is an unnatural aspect to his aether that I have not yet been able to rectify.”

“Unnatural? You mean, like me?” he asked, a little more sharply than he’d meant. That his first reaction was defensive made him wonder, and he winced and cocked his head in apology. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for.”

“That’s alright, and no, not like you,” she said pointedly. “You would expect him to be radiant as well, with all the energies of the Tower behind him…and while it’s true there is a profusion of gold about his person, he’s oddly lacking in an aetherial center. What I mean to say is,” she amended at his quizzical look, “I can’t see his soul within his physical manifestation, and it is quite unnerving.”

“You can’t…” he started with shock, then paused. “What about the rest of the Scions? How do they appear to you?”

“As souls in and of themselves, although solidified in a manner most peculiar. The Exarch, however…” she grimaced. “He’s real, and solid, that much I’ve established. I stumbled in the Ocular when I first arrived, and he reached out to steady me, so it is not as though he is projecting a glamour. At first I thought he might be in the same situation as us, but where we are dense, he is as dust on the wind. In fact…” She paused again, bounced her knuckles against her lips in thought. “I have felt traces of him in every corner of the Crystarium and out into Lakeland, even when he is not physically present. And yet he has no center.”

Evi’a’s tail flicked with agitation as he curled his fingers against his chest. “I don’t possess your aetherial sight, but for my part I can feel him clearly as day…Perhaps it’s something to do with his connection to the Tower?” She gave a sharp puff of frustration.

“Aye, that’s like to be the case, but it’s still disturbing, especially considering that there is also a subtle suggestion lingering in the atmosphere at the Crystarium, for which I care not,” she declared, lips pursed with distaste. “A compelling, if you will…and I’ll have none of it.” 

He stared at her for a moment, ears half drooped and lips parted with dismay, then turned his eyes downward to study his empty bowl.

“The Exarch, he gave me a choice,” he said presently, in a low voice. “Or at least, he tried to. He was upset when I accepted the First’s cause so quickly, he tried to explain what it might mean for me…and I didn’t listen to him. He implied that he wanted me to make informed decisions based on what _I_ want…and I turned around and promised him I wouldn’t ask any more questions, because he struggles to answer them. Sweet Menphina, I’m a fool,” he muttered, rubbing at his face. “He asked me to trust him, but he didn’t mean blindly, and I’m only just seeing it. I haven’t learned anything. I’ve pushed all the burden of responsibility for what’s happening to me onto him.”

“I see what you’re trying to say, but in the end it _is_ his responsibility—he’s the one who summoned us after all,” she said with a shrug, then peered at him sharply. “Evi’a, it pains me to say this, but are you certain he was not just presenting you with the illusion of choice?” she asked plainly, and he turned to meet her eyes. 

“He wanted me to choose for myself, of that much I am certain. I can feel him, every moment of every day,” he said resolutely. “And yes, he’s up to something, I’ll grant you that. But this compelling you speak of, he hinted at it once in passing, and although I didn’t understand at the time…more and more, I’m convinced that it’s he who is at the mercy of the Tower, and not the other way around.” Her expression softened, and she regarded him with a troubled smile.

“So you do love him,” she murmured. “Forgive me, I have but my intuition and staunch practicality to guide my judgement, and generally speaking both have served me well…yet I would not dismiss your thoughts outright. I should be very fascinated to know how you came to this conclusion about the Exarch and the Tower.” 

He had to resist the urge to sigh. He was beginning to grow weary and heartsick of constantly recounting the same story of G’raha Tia and the Tower, but he needed all the help and insight he could get. She was silent as he told about his half memories, the way the Exarch seemed to know him, the journal and his visit to Krile, about having the crystal from the Source and the First compared.

“…The First has changed you,” she said at length, scrutinizing him closely. “Just as it has changed all of us, I daresay. These temblors and this queen among voidsent I find particularly troubling, as well as the hold the Tower is tightening on you.”

“On me?” he exclaimed with surprise. “I might be seeing motes and the like, but the Tower has never forced me into anything. And as for the compelling nature you spoke of,” he started, seeing that she was about to interject, “If it’s there, it can’t be terribly strong, or rather, at least not for us. The Exarch wished you to stay, did he not? But you still left unhindered. I don’t believe Alisaie has held back on her criticisms either,” he said dryly.

“But the capability is primed and present,” she insisted, “and I don’t fancy why it’s necessary, or what it would mean put into practice.”

“And I am ever ready to fire my bow—it doesn’t mean I’m going to shoot you with it,” he argued, then gave an annoyed hum. His words were too similar to what Selch had said to him in the forest, and although he didn’t care for the parallel he knew he was right. They stared at one another stubbornly, and finally she shook her head.

“We’re just going to have to agree that we feel differently about this. I don’t have such a bond to cloud my head—or to clear my suspicions, whichever case may be more apt. However, I will think on your words, and do some investigation of my own,” she acquiesced. He nodded and moved to take a sip of his water, only to find his cup drained. She refilled his cup again and said nothing.

“For all you are suspicious of the Exarch, do you believe Urianger? Even though he has no proof but his word?” he asked, regarding her seriously. She pursed her lips and gave a rueful chuckle.

“I…believe I do, to an extent. Something is certainly amiss, and it irks me that he keeps his secrets. Still, at some point you have to believe the people you love are not leading you astray. This is not to say that I will accept his reticence lying down, but I am certain he has our wellbeing at heart. I expect you feel similarly about the Exarch…let us both hope we do not come to regret our decisions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emet Selch just makes everything difficult doesn't he? Thanks as always for reading!...And if you are reading and still enjoying, maybe consider letting me know one way or the other? Writing a story like this takes a lot of time and effort, and a little encouragement does go a long way! Thanks for sticking with Evi'a for all this time <3 Oh! If you want, you can find me on twitter @syrcusgardens :D


	9. Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evi'a struggles to come to terms with what is happening to him, and his companions, once again, love him more than he realizes.

The Exarch swallowed as he placed his hand on the doorknob to his inspiration’s room, and for what felt the hundredth time, withdrew it. He was grateful for the late hour—most people were in bed, and even the manager of suites had retired for the night—so no one was around to watch their beloved caretaker make a fool of himself. Although at this point they might not have noticed anyway, tired and rattled as everyone was from the eater attack on Lakeland at the hands of Vauthry. He eyed the flask of chestnut soup and decanter of cooled herbal tea in his basket, fidgeted with covering them properly, and stared at the door.

Evi’a would know he was outside, he must, unless…unless he were too far gone to register it. Gentle presses at the bond had resulted in nothing but grey haze for the duration of the day, even though the twins were in and out looking after him. He leaned against the doorjamb, flicked his tail and studied the floor. It was not as though his own thoughts or emotions were clear either.

He had felt the Keeper all through the Greatwood, and even at a distance he could tell the man was under heavy duress well before the third absorption. As soon as Evi’a left the boundaries of Rak’tika to once more set foot on Lakeland soil, the renewed presence of the bond had bloomed in his heart as a flower already half-strangled and wilted. Hardy enough to fight on, but for how long, and at what cost? The Exarch felt as a soul split in two with his own reaction to his beloved warrior’s state. There was part of him that had grimly steeled himself for exactly this for a hundred years, and was not sorry—this was the only way that the man and the two worlds depending on him could ever be saved, and whether the Keeper believed it or not, his life was precious and worth the struggle of himself and everyone involved. Still, the rest of him less fettered by hard logic knew that he had inflicted this on the soul he loved more dearly than any other, that he’d accepted Evi’a’s acceptance of the task without insisting upon giving the man the full truth…and for that, he was very much in the wrong. Evi’a had a right to know, and the Exarch should have told him, no matter how badly the Keeper did not want to hear it.

He adjusted his hood, rubbed the thick fabric of it between his thumb and forefinger. How much damage had he caused in protecting his identity, in protecting himself? Was he so dead set on taking the Light into the rift that he’d neglected other possibilities? As it were it was too late now—he simply didn’t have the time or wherewithal to find another method. With the bond as it was, he wondered if it still made any sense to keep his hood up…and he was sick of wondering, sick of dallying over this issue, fretting as to whether or not he’d done the right thing. With the enchantment down and the two of them able to reach one another with little more than a thought, it was only a matter of time before the Keeper found out about his plan. Whether Evi’a ever remembered him or not was ceasing to matter as far as his initial goals were concerned—with their connection so strong and only growing, his flight into the rift stood the very real risk of killing them both. What right did he have to go to Evi’a thinking to offer comfort, having made such a botch of everything?

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door, and he jumped aside and tried to appear as though he’d only just arrived as Alphinaud emerged from the room, grim-faced and weary. The elezen raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the caretaker and quietly shut the door behind him.

“Good evening Exarch…I confess I’m surprised to see you here so late. Is there aught that needs our attention? Or…” he paused, glancing down at the basket, “did you just come to check on him?”

“We’ve not had the chance to speak since he returned from Rak’tika, and with the battle that ensued before he could even rest properly…I fear I have yet to convey my gratitude not just to him, but to all of you,” he said, ducking his head apologetically. “The Crystarium owes its safety to your noble efforts.”

“Well, to his efforts more than any of ours, but it’s always like that,” Alphinaud said, darting a sad glance toward the door. “With that connection of yours, I presume you know he’s not in the best state at the moment?” he asked plainly. The caretaker frowned and nodded.

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said quietly, filing aside that the Keeper had seen fit to speak of their bond to at least one of his companions—how many of them knew, and what did they make of it?

In any case, he had been unable to leave the Crystarium to join the fray, focused as he was on maintaining the shields and the calm, but he had felt the Keeper at battle—bands of Light constricting like steel about his lungs and bringing him up short, the bone-deep exhaustion, an uncharacteristic feral abandon as he fought on through the night. He’d tried to extend his own practiced calm to the warrior, but it went either unnoticed or unheeded. The moment Evi’a had returned to his quarters he’d collapsed, and everything had gone to static. The Exarch had wanted to rush to him right that instant, but he couldn’t get away, and with the warrior’s companions looking after him he couldn’t justify abandoning his duties. And also…he hadn’t missed the waves of dismay that were specifically aimed at him as the Keeper had made his way through Rak’tika, and he wasn’t entirely certain his presence would be welcome.

“Physically, he’s as fine as he can be, all things considered,” Alphinaud said, perhaps sensing his worry. “Otherwise…He’s been responding on and off to my sister and myself, but…” the elezen trailed off, fixed him with a considering expression for a moment, then turned to lean against the door with a sigh. “I suppose you should know this isn’t the first time this has happened,” he said quietly. “This afflicts him on occasion, when he’s overwhelmed. Most recently for a few weeks after the liberation of Ala Mhigo, although…I was away for that. I daresay he just needs some time…though I realize we never have much to spare. I don’t think he was fully recovered from his last round of this before he was summoned here. From what my sister says he was desperate to spend a few quiet weeks at home, then return to his tribe to see his kits. Obviously that never happened.”

“Would that I had known,” he said softly, his heart clenching with dismay. “I realize I’ve caused him—and all of you—a great deal of pain. Regrettably, even if I were aware…we were running out of time. I can’t say that I would have been able to wait,” he admitted. Gods, he should have spoken to the man more when he first arrived instead of hiding in the Ocular trying to keep what he’d felt at the time was a healthy distance between them.

“No, and he understands that. Forgive me, I did not mean to imply resentment. Normally I would not speak of this with a soul outside the Scions, but I know you care about him, and he thinks fondly of you as well,” the elezen said gently. The Exarch shifted on his feet, ears twitching beneath his hood.

“He deserves to be cared for, to have the peace for which he longs so dearly,” he answered at length. “Would that any one of us could grant him that rest…but failing that, we must not underestimate the comfort of simple companionship. It’s good of you and your sister to always look after him so—it’s obvious even in my short time of observing you together that he loves you both very much.” Alphinaud nodded to him with a sad smile, then studied the floor for a moment before looking back up.

“Tell me true, did you know him before you ever summoned him?” the elezen asked, fixing his gaze unflinchingly on the Exarch’s hooded face. Gods, how he wished he could meet those shrewd, proud eyes properly.

“I did. We unlocked the mysteries of this very Tower together. I watched him defeat the Cloud of Darkness summoned by Xande with my own eyes,” he said firmly. “I can’t say what’s happened, or why he doesn’t remember, but what I have spoken is the absolute truth.” Alphinaud took a breath and studied him, expression unreadable.

“I was with Evi’a, during the time period that the Syrcus Tower expedition was underway, and I can promise you he was not there,” the elezen finally said. “I can see you believe that you are speaking the truth, and perhaps you are, in the end…Is there a possibility that there is some temporal issue at fault, or that you pulled from the wrong timeline?”

The Exarch shrugged helplessly. He’d spent many a night agonizing over what could have gone wrong, poring over his calculations to root out any mistakes. Granted, there had been a few, but nothing so egregious as to cause a problem on this scale.

“I fear there is much about the summoning that I still do not understand…and frankly, after the fact I’m finding that I know less than I thought I did. A temporal issue seems quite likely, but that’s my speculation more than anything. I truly wish I could offer a more valuable observation, but alas. All I can say with confidence is that he is without question the Warrior of Light whom I met as a young man—with observation since he arrived, I have found their aetherial patterns to be exactly the same.” Would that there had been someone more capable as a mage who could do the job, but it was he who was attached to the Tower and that was all there was to it. There were days when his ineptitude ate away at his heart, but at present all he had was weary resignation. The situation stood as it was, and no amount of fretting in the world was going to undo it. The elezen nodded with a thoughtful frown.

“My thanks for your honesty,” he answered, pushing himself off of the door and straightening his tunic. “Obviously I am ill-equipped to sort out what happened on my own, but a number of the Scions are looking into it by this point. Hopefully our joint efforts will turn up some results.” The Exarch inclined his head in acknowledgement. Who knew what they would find, if anything, but at present he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. They had a right to investigate, and he was done with trying to stand in the way of their efforts. Whatever they found about the Tower, about his plans, about the past, he would square his shoulders and bear it—it was the least he could do.

“I wish you all the best…I should be glad to know what has come to pass as well,” he murmured. Alphinaud stared at him quizzically, then gave a shake of his head and smiled.

“I’ve kept you too long,” he said amiably. “Go, sit with him. I know he’ll be pleased to see you, even if he doesn’t show it so much right now. He’s not going to answer the door, just tell him I let you in. And by the way…,” the elezen added as he turned to leave, “Sometimes he comes out of this in a rather fierce mood, you might do well to be prepared for it, be ready to give him some space.” The Exarch nodded his thanks, watched with a touch of wonderment as the younger man made his way to his own door and retired to his room. He hadn’t thought of it overmuch previously, but he did appreciate how the Scions spoke to him—even Y’shtola and Alisaie. It was good to have people around who were not concerned by his position, who spoke their minds regardless. The lack of formality was quite soothing in its own way. Feeling oddly bolstered, he knocked on the warrior’s door and let himself in before he could overthink.

In the half-dimmed lights he could make out the Keeper’s curled form upon the bed, his back facing the door and his tail uncharacteristically limp. The bond gave a little bump of recognition—so Evi’a knew he was there, then. He took a quick moment to stop and steer himself toward open calmness—the bard would feel him very clearly at this proximity, and he would need to be solid and gentle. Once he was satisfied he padded quietly into the room, set the basket on the table, and moved to sit down at the chair placed a respectful distance from the Keeper’s bedside. Close enough to read a book and just be there, far enough away to grant space if needed. There was so much he wished to say, but he realized that it would probably be more for his own sake than his warrior’s at this point.

“I’ve come to sit with you, if you’ll have me,” he said quietly. He took a breath when there was another little wave on the bond—truly, he hadn’t expected any response, and to find that his presence was accepted was so very dear. “Do you need quiet, or do you want me to talk?” he asked. There was an odd little shift that he couldn’t quite interpret. “Shall I read to you then?” A bare nudge in the affirmative. Well, that would be easy enough. “Alright then, give me a moment to find something suitable.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and made his way over to the small collection of tomes he’d left for the Keeper, thinking they might pique his interest if ever he managed a quiet night in. He frowned as he darted his eyes over the titles—so many were tales of heroes and legends, and he couldn’t help but feel that those would not be appropriate at the moment. Faerie tales and history were also out, either too patronizing or too depressing. Just as he thought he was going to have to leave to find something appropriate or settle for telling a story, his eyes caught on a deep navy volume embossed in silver that was only just nudged out of place.

“’Observations of Nautical Fauna and Their Habits’, hmmm…”, he mumbled, pulling it out. He was surprised to find it bookmarked about a third of the way in, and smiled with nostalgic fondness. The Keeper always had been fascinated with ocean life and had told stories, all those years ago, about his adventures as a younger man along the La Noscean shores. As he recalled the tome was interesting, if rather dry fare, and therefore perfect for his current needs.

“I found the book about Nautical Fauna you began, is it okay if I read this one?” he asked, and there was another gentle bump, this time coupled with a hint of appreciation. 

He didn’t know how long he read, his voice falling into the calming cadence he used when Lyna was small and couldn’t sleep, when new orphans showed up at the Pendants, hollow-eyed and too exhausted to seek comfort. At some point Evi’a fell asleep, but he continued on reading well into the night until the book was at last finished and the author’s afterword complete. Afterwards he contented himself to just sit and be there, half in a trance himself from the lull of his bondmate at rest next to him and the careful gentling of his own mood. At some point he must have fallen asleep, as he came to with a jump to find that the Keeper had rolled over and was regarding him with half-lidded eyes, their connection considerably more active than it had been some hours previous.

“Ah, forgive me, it seems I dozed off,” he said, inclining his head toward the bard. “I can read more if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” Evi’a murmured, the tip of his tail twitching to and fro against the bedside. “What time is it?” The Exarch blinked, then rummaged in his robes for his pocket watch.

“Four bells past midnight, it would seem.” The Keeper grimaced.

“Ugh, gods,” he muttered, burying his face in his pillow momentarily before turning back to look at the caretaker. They regarded one another at length in silence. “This is going to be bad, isn’t it?” Evi’a said, finally breaking the quiet. The Exarch knew it was meant as a rhetorical question, but thought it best to answer anyway.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he acknowledged gently.

“You were trying to tell me that before, weren’t you? Back in the Ocular when I took on all this.”

“I was. I should have done, no matter how you protested. I’m sorry,” he said simply, because what else was there to say? The Keeper sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he murmured, reaching one hand up to scrub at his eyes. “I’m sorry I promised not to ask questions. I should have thought that through…quite a lot more.”

“Are you sorry you took this on?” he asked, looking the man in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch away. “If you had it all to do over, would you take it back?”

“Of course not,” the Keeper whispered. “How could I? And this is for me as well anyway, is it not?”

“It is,” he acknowledged, finally looking away. It wasn’t as though Evi’a could see his eyes, but still, his gaze was becoming too much to bear.

“You’re afraid of watching me die,” the Keeper said shrewdly, blooming into life in their connection at alarming speed. “And you don’t mean to,” he continued pensively. 

“No,” he breathed, clasping his hands in his lap so tightly that they ached. “I don’t.” He could feel the bard’s scrutiny skimming over every inch of their shared existence, felt the muffled exclamation point of realization, the following jumble of exploding emotions so tangled as to be unreadable, culminating in steely resolve—and still reaching higher. He gasped as the Keeper’s soul suddenly burst into light and Light within their bond, intermingled, unfettered, mighty, and underscored a thousand times over with the blessing of Hydaelyn. 

“I’m going to fight, and so help me, I’m going to live through this,” Evi’a said firmly, his expression fierce as he finally pushed himself up to sit, ears half pinned and tail lashing. “I can only imagine what you gave to give me, to give all of us, this chance. I won’t squander it.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, sympathetic passion surging in his own soul as he turned blazing eyes to regard the Keeper, found himself leaning forward with the strength of the pull between them. “I know the man I summoned does not back down. When I told you I chose the best, I meant it, every word.” The Keeper let out a puff of air, his _presence_ surging through the both of them, his eyes sharp with…with…

The Exarch stood so quickly he nearly toppled his chair.

“I should…I should go,” he stammered, pushing back against that turbulent influence with a mighty effort, working against the heat pooling low. Gods, how long had it been since thoughts of _that_ had even crossed his mind, and to find it happening so suddenly, and under such circumstances no less! And that the feeling was mutual…oh Azeyma, he had to remove himself immediately before his willpower crumbled under that sweet assault. The Keeper was not himself, surely he wasn’t. Alphinaud had warned about this…although, he was fairly certain that this particular sort of awakening was not quite what the elezen had meant. Evi’a’s eyes were sharp, but he nodded.

“Yes, I think…I think that might be for the best, for now,” he answered, voice oddly strained. Well, at least the man hadn’t taken total leave of his senses, and his own need to get away was acknowledged and accepted.

“I brought you some chestnut soup, and some tea—I’ve left them on the table, if you’d like them later,” he said hastily, making a quick bow to the Keeper before heading for the door. “Please, take your time to rest—your companions are still recovering from the ordeal, as are we all.” And then he was out, and the door was between them…though a flimsy wooden barrier was inconsequential against the storm rolling through him, courtesy of the Keeper’s tempestuous state so nearby. He exhaled shakily, then made for the Pendants aetheryte. He needed to get to the protection of the Tower’s inner walls, needed to calm down and begin sorting what to do, now that Evi’a realized that his impromptu bondmate meant to die. 

The next couple of days for the Keeper passed in a half feral haze of persistent rain, mud, and the splattered luminescence of sin eater ichor. On some level he knew he shouldn’t be out, that his companions would be worried and angry, but he couldn’t make himself go back to the Tower. He had been unable to contain himself within the walls of his quarters, his caged soul battering at the constrictive bands of Light binding his chest, his breath smothered with rage and sorrow.

Compounding his unease was what he and Y’shtola had seen as they came upon the borders of Rak’tika: hundreds of rifts pockmarking the air, lazily, steadily siphoning the gold from the atmosphere. Though invisible to the other Scions, it was clearly an ill portent that left a chill in the pit of his stomach. Y’shtola seconded his dismay—apparently there had been no such phenomenon in evidence when she arrived on the First. Furthermore, he could now feel the roots of the Tower singing and stretching deep into the bedrock and far out into Lakeland. He thought of the temblors, of G’raha Tia’s visions, and had to make a mighty effort to restrain the panic chipping away at the back of his mind. It had been all he could do to scribble a note to say that he’d be patrolling Lakeland for stray eaters and pass it with trembling fingers under Alphinaud’s door. Well, it was less patrolling and more stalking, letting the chill rain drench him to the bone as he prowled. Overcoming the discomfort made him feel alive, served as a reminder that he still had so much more fight left in him. 

He was going to need that strength if he meant to keep both himself and the Exarch alive.

Distantly he was grateful that he did not come upon another soul in the wilds—he was not of a mind to speak civilly, much less play the genial hero. He imagined he looked it even less, filthy as he was after two days of hunting as he had when had still been a man of his tribe. All the more suitable—he meant to remind these eaters that he was a predator, not prey. And with a third Warden absorbed, he could smell them on the air as clear as day, caustic and smoking against the scent of wet leaves and dampened soil.

This particular specimen, he’d been tracking for the better part of a two bells. Apparently it favored turning bears, as he had crossed paths with three of the hulking beasts while tracking the eater’s scent. He found he noticed more details as he felled them now—their dull, lifeless eyes, the way they heaved for breath as thick white sludge splashed from their maws.

That was not going to be him. He was going to fight back, clawing and hissing and spitting. They were never going to take who he was away from him, never going to turn him on the ones he loved, never going to make him drag the Exarch down with him. _But aren’t you out here losing yourself?_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered, but he ignored it. If anything, he was finding himself again, and he had his mark in sight. Tall and willowy in form, with flowing silken hair and radiant skin, resplendent in gold filigree, angelic against a steely sky—and deathly still behind hollow eyes. 

No, this was never going to be him. 

He carefully crouched down against a gnarled shrub, watching the creature with muscles coiled to spring, hands ready at his bow, tail stiff with anticipation as it crested the hill. It had to sense him by now, and he waited for it to look his way…and yet it seemed distracted with something in the distance. Well, not for long.

Fangs bared, he shot up from his hiding place, arrow nocked and drawn…and thanks only to years of experience was he able to stop himself as a taller form burst forth with a sharp cry of contempt and ran the eater through the heart with a shining rapier. 

“Alisaie!” he exclaimed angrily. “What in the seven hells are you doing out here? I nearly shot you!”

“I might ask you the same!” she snapped back, flicking her sword free of the dissipating light, lips curled in disgust. “Gods, look at the state of you. Alphinaud and the Exarch both said to leave you be, but I won’t have it. Come back with me before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” he said tersely, eyes narrowed and tail lashing as he put away his arrow. “Go back to the Crystarium.”

“I won’t!” she declared, raising her chin in defiance. “There’s a fight out there with all of our names on it, but this isn’t it, and you know I’m right.” He scowled at her, turned on his heel to leave. This was something that he needed to do, and he was not of a mind to stand around explaining himself or arguing his point. He hadn’t made it five steps before she used her superior height to outpace him. He turned to her with an exasperated hiss.

“Alisaie, I’m not-“ He stopped short as she wheeled to block his path and leveled her rapier at his throat, degen glowing ominously at her side. 

“I’m not asking,” she said in a low voice, eyes proud and vehement as she stared him down. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged—though he was well aware she would—his hand drifting down to the hilt of his own seldom-used rapier. 

The only warning he got was the scowl pulling at her lips before fire-aspected aether slammed him onto his back in the muddy leaves. He rolled out of the way of her next spell, cursing and unsheathing his rapier in the process, leapt to his feet and met her lightning-quick strike with an earsplitting ring of steel, met her ferocity with bared fangs. She stepped back with graceful ease and was upon him again before he could gather his scrambled thoughts.

“You want to…come out…here…and sulk? Are we doing this again?” she snarled between blows, then threw in a sharp Jolt that made his tail fluff. “Are you angry? Because I certainly would be!” He spun away from another blow, side-dodged another round of fire that singed at his ears. He thought she would have more to say, but her eyes had grown distant, her concentration fully honed on the spar—and she was _fast_. His eyes began to cloud, and as his awareness began to float, he finally realized in full what she was doing. His heart gave a little twitch of love punctuated with shame, but for the first time since facing Titania he let the rest of himself fall away and met her challenge head-on. For a long while there was nothing but the two of them in the rain, whirling in a dance of steel and carefully loosed magicks. She was far better than him at the spellwork, but he was more skilled with the rapier—and neither of them was willing to back down. 

Stubborn as he was, it came as a shock when the focus of his battle trance was interrupted by genuine lightheadedness—and he realized absently that he wasn’t breathing properly, that he’d hardly eaten in two days, and that if he faltered, he might truly injure her. 

“Alisaie,” he gasped, struggling for air. “Alisaie, fall back!” He made a low noise of dismay as she spat another Verholy his way, the Light in her spell vaporizing the leaves of the surrounding trees. It was all he could do to guard against it, and he could see in her eyes that she was far too lost to her own work to heed his words or his condition. Grimacing, he dropped his rapier and pulled his bow forward, and within half a moment had a gleaming arrow pointed at her chest. That at least finally caught her attention, rapier half-raised to strike. For an instant he thought he was going to bring her weapon down on his nocked arrow…but she gave a shuddering exhale, and her sword slipped from her fingers to fall harmlessly into the trampled leaves. He immediately put away his bow, and as one they both collapsed to the ground, panting and spent. 

“You cheated,” she groused shakily, hair half undone and tangled with sticks and weeds. 

“You’ve gotten better at that,” he gasped by way of reply. She gave a dismissive shrug, and they sat in silence for a while as they came back to reality in fits and starts. He watched with a heavy heart as she recovered, shamed with his own selfishness and grateful for her understanding. Words would never have reached him in his state, and she of all people would know that. “We’re getting rained on,” he ventured, and she gave a bark of laughter. 

“I daresay it doesn’t matter at this point.” He gave a rueful smile and tentatively scooted over the upturned ground to sit beside her, shivering a bit against the cold. Sweet Menphina, how selfish he was. How many times was he going to do this to her? This was the third since they’d known one another, and he could appreciate that it was probably getting old. “You know, it’s one thing for me to pull foolish stunts like this, and quite another for you to do it,” she muttered, casting him a sidelong glance. 

“I know,” he said contritely, ears drooped. “But I couldn’t remain inside another moment.” She nodded, then leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees and gaze toward where the eater had fallen. 

“I can understand that much. Well, do you feel any better?” she mumbled. 

“I...think so?” he said cautiously, watching her crumpling expression with crestfallen alarm. Sure enough, she hid her face against her knees and gave a muffled sob. He winced and scooted closer, gave her shoulder a lingering bunt.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” he whispered. “Truly I am, but I don’t know what I’d have done if I stayed.”

“I know that!” she said, raising her head enough to angrily scrub at her eyes. “Y’shtola told us about the absorptions, about your bond, and if I were you I’d be furious too! And gods, I’m angry with myself for not being able to do anything to help, for not knowing what to say, for not being someone you can speak to about anything because I’m so livid with the Exarch over this! All I can do is come wave a sword at you and hope you’ll come back, and it’s so godsdamned selfish…!” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her knees again. He hummed in distress, leaned against her. 

Gods, how he missed the twins being nearer in height to him—how much easier it was back then to embrace them if they needed it, to protect them and soothe their woes like he might have done for his kits. At some point they had grown into greater height and equal ground, and it was so much harder to look after them when half the time he was the one who needed managing. 

“Well, I came back the other two times, so I suppose you have me figured out there,” he acknowledged gently. “Thank you for coming for me. Again.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled into her knees, and he gave her another bunt.

“It’s not,” he said frankly. “And I’m going to have to do better if I mean to overcome this trial. I can’t let myself get overwhelmed.” After all, it wasn’t just himself that he needed to save. When he’d heard from Y’shtola about the ramifications of the absorptions, his initial thought was that he was going to die with the Light inside him to see things righted, and though it was undeniably frightening, he could understand and accept. He’d been sacrificing himself one way or the other his whole life, so it seemed a fitting culmination to his work, that his death should save so many. 

How hypocritical he was that it was such a terrible shock it to find the Exarch thinking near the same of himself. In his half delirious state upon wakening, the Keeper’s judgement had been heavily blunted, but as he sat with Alisaie in the mud and back in his right mind, he was woefully appalled to realize that he had looked more deeply into the caretaker than he had any right to delve. He couldn’t fully remember what had transpired, but the smaller miqo’te had left him food and fled. His heart sank at the memory, and a shameful nudge at the bond found it...vaguely muffled, but the undercurrent of anxiety was easy enough to understand. Sweet Menphina, what had he done? They were going to have to talk, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. 

Alisaie muttered something at his side, and he was drawn out of his thoughts. 

“What’s that?” he asked, ears perked to show he was being attentive. She sniffled and finally sat up to look at him.

“I said, do you really care for him so much? The Exarch, I mean.”

“I...think I love him, or…the memory I have of him?” he said, acknowledging it haltingly for the first time himself. “I never would have expected, and I don’t know how it happened...but here we are. ” He shook his head, scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll admit to making an absolute dog’s breakfast of it though—I can’t imagine what he must think right now.” She puffed a sigh.

“Y’shtola mentioned a compelling on the air, do you think…?” she trailed off, sensitive enough to not finish her thoughts. 

“If there is, I’m nearly certain it’s not coming from him. Having our bond in this state while I’m carrying three Wardens is no good for either one of us.” He couldn’t tell her that the Exarch meant to die, that he somehow meant to swap places and take the Light for himself. By all rights he wasn’t meant to know that either, much less let go that information to other people—even his dearest companions. No, the only thing he could do to make things right was fight back and live. 

“It’s a fair point,” she conceded, “but so much doesn’t add up. Why didn’t he tell you about this, about the Wardens?” 

“He tried, when I first arrived. I wouldn’t listen.” She stared at him, reached up to massage at her temples with a groan.

“Seven hells, Evi’a. Still, he should have told you.”

“We both should have done a lot of things differently,” he said with chagrin. “But what’s done is done, and we’ll have to do our best from here on out. Trust me though when I say he means it when he promises he wants to keep me safe.” Wants it enough to die, he thought bitterly. But even should the caretaker accomplish his goal and take the Light for himself, what good would it do with the two of them so deeply connected? Or, perhaps when the Exarch took the Light the bond would shrink back down to a thread? There was no way to know. 

“I hope you know what you’re talking about,” she grumbled. “Personally, I find him infuriating, but you are also infuriating, so peas and a pod and all that rot. If you care for him so dearly I’ll attempt to hold my peace.” She stared ahead for a moment with a complex expression, and well, if she was about to lecture him he probably deserved it.

He jumped as she gave a mighty sneeze, then sniffled and rubbed at her nose. “Gods, I’m freezing my arse off. How are you not cold? If I’m ill it’s on you,” she announced, her lips quirking into a beleaguered half smile. 

“Oh, I’m cold,” he answered, tentatively returning her smile and very aware of the mud seeping into his trousers. “And starving.” She gave a bark of laughter and stood, reaching a hand down to help him up. 

“Come on then, you sweet fool, let’s go back. At the very least you need to apologize to my brother, he’s been pacing and mumbling to himself ever since you left, and even still had the nerve to tell me to leave you to your devices.”

He blinked and took a shaky breath, tears stinging at his eyes as he stood and watched her soaked and bedraggled form give her equipment a quick once-over in preparation to leave. She and her brother deserved so much better from him—it was not just for the Exarch that he was going to have to step up. How many times he had resolved to do so, and how many times he still fell short. 

“I love you both very much, you know. I’m sorry I’m like this,” he said quietly, ears drooped. She turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“We know, and don’t apologize for being who you are. You’ve dragged me back from my own idiocy any number of times, and you can’t always be a Twelvesdamned paragon of virtue and heroics. Weren’t any of us ever meant to stand alone—a lesson I should have learned much earlier, honestly.” 

  
“Thank you,” he murmured, running fingers through his sodden hair, dismayed to find his red pansy pin equally drenched. “I…I wouldn’t be here without you, and the rest of the Scions. I know it’s been an inconvenience to say the least, but I’m glad he summoned you lot.” She gave him a soft smile, reached down to tousle his hair.

“I love you too, you know, and it’s good to be at your side. Now,” she said, giving his unruly locks a sharp tug, “I’m going to port us back before we freeze to death. I’m sure we’ll get stared at, and scolded, but at least we’ll be together.”

She was right, to an extent. Their arrival at the Crystarium aetheryte was met with a collective gasp from nearby onlookers, the Exarch’s vaunted guests appearing in such a pitifully unkempt state that they were immediately plied with offers of aid. It took some doing to assure everyone that they were well enough and just needed rest, but finally they were able to get away—and deal with the same concerns at the Pendants aetheryte. Their exhausted arrival at his quarters found messages from the other Scions beseeching him for immediate contact upon his return. For a blessing, they were able to speak with Alphinaud first, and he stalled getting the others together just long enough for Alisaie and himself to have a wash and bolt down a few bites of cold stew. 

And yes, the other Scions scolded him, but they also brought dinner—baked Xanthic bass courtesy of Y’shtola, roasted carrots from Urianger, fresh-baked chestnut bread from Thancred and Minfilia, and an incredible lime meringue pie that Alphinaud chanced to find at the markets earlier that day. Their generous hospitality was so far removed from what he’d expected, and he was so profoundly touched…and exhausted. For the most part, words deserted him as they passed the food around the table, and he contented himself with listening to their stories as he ate. There was no talk of Lightwardens, or the fighting, just of home and pixies and their myriad discoveries on the First. He knew they were steering the conversation to gentler topics for his sake, that they didn’t expect him to talk, and he appreciated their consideration to the depths of his soul. After, he quietly helped everyone clear the dishes and wash up, gratefully accepted the last of the pie from Alphinaud to have in the morning. Then, there were gentle wishes and exclamations that he should rest, and feeling as one lost in a dream he gave his heartfelt thanks and goodnights as everyone prepared to leave. Alisaie was the last, and before she made to follow she turned and gave him a lingering hug that he returned in kind.

Humbled by the depths of their kindness, it was in a different sort of haze entirely that he dimmed the lights and retired to his bed for the night, his heart both heavy with love and buoyant with a burden set free. The bands of Light constricted in his breast, but he closed his eyes and let them be. He wasn’t sure why he began to weep, but it was good to give in, to let his tears fall until he dropped off into peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Originally I was going to post a much longer chapter, but it was just getting too long, so I've ended up breaking this bit off. The next chapter is almost complete, and I should be able to post it next week! Thanks as always for reading--and if you are still reading and enjoying, please consider letting me know somehow! A little encouragement does go a long way <3 
> 
> If you wanna, you can look me up on twitter @syrcusgardens!


	10. Yielding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the path forward does not quite go in the direction we'd planned, but that doesn't have to mean that all is lost.

The next morning he woke puffy-eyed and sore, but with a resolute sense of purpose filling his heart such as he had not managed since arriving on the First. His companions loved him, and he finally understood in full what he was facing, and what he would have to do to see the task entrusted to him complete. The goal for now would be to maintain that resolve from day to day, to have the strength to hold fear and ruin at bay for long enough to see this through to the end. With his role and responsibility toward his task cleared in his heart, he was free to untangle the mystery of the Exarch and the Tower, the temblors and the truth behind his missing memories—and he meant to pursue that investigation with extreme enthusiasm in any spare moment he might have.

First things first however was to apologize to the Exarch for what he had done, and to do it quickly before he lost the edge off his confidence. He’d taken a liberty that he shouldn’t have, hurt someone he cared for in a way that he’d never hurt anyone before, and in his right mind he couldn’t believe that he’d run for the woods the first chance available to do so. He was under no illusions that he was fully healed—screams from the Lakeland battle against Vauthry’s eaters still gnawed at the back of his mind, and the Wardens crowding his heart smothered his breath…but at least for now, he could accept that he felt poorly and move on. He had people who cared for him, work to do, and a bondmate who needed him to be strong.

So it was that he found himself heading for the Cabinet, after a moment of so of concentration let him know he would find the Exarch there. He’d met Alphinaud on the way, who had a spot of research to do on Lightwarden physiology and so fell into step at his side. To his relief the younger man made no mention of the events of the past few days and seemed to have his eyes firmly set on the future—a quality Evi’a had come to greatly admire. It wasn’t that the elezen pretended that failures or setbacks did not exist—more that he understood the profound need to learn from and move past them. Sometimes the Keeper wondered where he would be without that pragmatic, youthful fortitude at his side these past few years, if he’d have hung up his bow and gone home after Haurchefant was killed.

He’d thought to go the Exarch and ask for a moment in private to talk, but their arrival found the caretaker sat cross-legged on the floor, a rather impressive picture book in hand and a whole crowd of kits arranged around him, the smallest a child of no more than two nestled in his lap. Golden motes flowed lazily up from where the Exarch sat, giving the impression of a benevolent divinity with his brood.

The scene brought him up short, and he didn’t miss Alphinaud’s bittersweet sideways glance as he realized he was staring and reluctantly urged himself to move on. The Exarch looked—and felt—so peaceful, and it was clear the children adored him from their rapt faces, the way they leaned against him without a second thought. A few people he presumed to be parents milled about nearby with fond smiles, and there was a hush about the Cabinet that suggested the children weren’t the only ones listening to the colorful tale of the tricksy pixie and the false leafboy.

Gods, how the people of the Crystarium would miss this dear man if he died. And how very much Evi’a would have loved to read to his own kits just once more before the Light had become too dire to bring into their presence. He shook his head and followed Alphinaud up the stairs, face set in grim defiance. He wouldn’t let the Exarch die, and he _would_ read to his kits again someday.

He was surprised to see Minfilia and Thancred also in attendance as they reached the top levels, the girl leaning against the railing with a quiet smile gracing her features as she listened to the Exarch’s story. He raised a hand in greeting to the gunbreaker, nodded to Alphinaud as the elezen made his way over to Moren, then moved to join Minfilia.

“And then the tricksy pixie said, ‘Whither my naughty leafboy, if he’d just come back, I’ve a candied apple, would he like an ickle snack?’ Hearing this, the false leafboy leapt up…” 

“He does the voices very well, doesn’t he?” she whispered, and he had to agree—the man did a top notch impression of a bratty pixie, and he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. They stood side by side in appreciative silence until the story concluded with the foolish false leafboy being cursed into the real thing. “I never expected he would be such a storyteller, or so good with children,” she mused quietly, and he frowned at the naked longing in her eyes as they watched the Exarch stand and give the smallest kit an extra cuddle before passing her back to her mother. He thought to say something, but she sighed and turned away, looking to Thancred with distant eyes. “I’d best get back to my studies,” she murmured, and he sighed himself as he watched her go. 

She was such a dear child, so young to carry the burden that she did, and she deserved so much better than the way Thancred treated her. He had attempted more than once to speak to the gunbreaker on the subject, but the conversation always derailed before it could truly begin. It didn’t help that among all the Scions, he knew Thancred the least—the man was nearly always off on solitary missions, and then so many years had passed for him on the First. Even so, Evi’a would never have placed him to be one to be so tactless—to teach the girl to fight and think for herself, but to pat her head and turn her away when talk turned to her inevitable future. To not bother to hide that he was very clearly conflicted about her position as the Oracle, that she wasn’t the Minfilia he once knew and loved. 

But he could also respect that Thancred wasn’t particularly pleased with himself about how he felt, and he knew firsthand what that was like. Odds were strong the man knew he was treating Minfilia poorly, and perhaps that was part of the reason he stood to the side and let her ‘sneak away’ to accompany Evi’a or the twins on forays. Sometimes he scolded her, but the gentle chimes of the Keeper’s Echo told him that it was mostly for show. Next time they returned to the Crystarium, he would have to do something for her—perhaps take her to lunch with the twins, or bring her fishing. There had been so little normalcy in her life, and it would do her some good to be reminded that she was cared for outside of her role as the Oracle. 

There was laughter below, and with perked ears he turned his attention back to the Exarch. The caretaker was speaking animatedly with a small crowd, and whatever they were talking about was cause for levity. It was good to hear, especially in the wake of the eater attacks. So rarely did he get to see the man at ease with his people, and though he could sense weariness in the bond, there was also happiness and pride. _Would that I could speak to him so naturally_ , he thought wistfully as he leaned against the railing. 

“Still here?” Alphinaud asked, joining him again with a pile of books in his arms.

“I suppose I am,” he said ruefully. “Perhaps my timing leaves something to be desired.” The elezen smiled softly, looked down to the Exarch and back to him.

“You know…” he began, then seemed to think better of whatever he’d meant to say. “Never mind. There was a time when I might have more doggedly advised you to think more on this, but I know that face.” The scholar precariously shifted the tomes to one arm and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Good luck, my friend,” he said, and turned to head for the reading desks.

“What face?” he called to the elezen’s back, but there was no reply. Seeing the interaction from across the room, Thancred nodded to him and ambled over from where he’d been perusing Minfilia’s tomes. 

“Out hoping to run into the Exarch?” he asked, leaning against the railing with a knowing grin. 

“I was out looking for him, there’s a difference,” he groused, ears flicking with embarrassment. The gunbreaker chuckled. 

“You should know, rumors are being whispered throughout the Crystarium that the two of you are involved in some kind of secret torrid romance.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, and ducked his head in abashed apology to Moren for his outburst. “What’s this, now?” he asked, making an effort to keep his voice down. 

“Seems our dear Exarch has been reading tales of a great hero to the children for years, and then you show up, and apparently he can’t stop talking about you. Not directly, but everyone knows it’s you. Also it’s known that he was working on your quarters for more than a year before you arrived, that you two have been in the Ocular alone together. That he’s visited your room a few times at night when you were in? Come now, that’s fantastic grist for the gossip mill.”

“I...it’s not...we haven’t…” he fumbled, cheeks burning as he cast his eyes about the library. How many of the patrons were watching him watching the Exarch?

“And if Alphinaud won’t say it, I will—there’s no mistaking the way you look at him. I’m not trying to discourage you,” he insisted, holding up both hands in placation as Evi’a opened his mouth to speak. “Quite the opposite. I say do what your heart tells you, and the sooner the better.” The gunbreaker frowned, looking over to Minfilia, who appeared completely engrossed in her tomes. “Look, I realize we don’t know one another so well, and I...have not been the best company of late,” he allowed, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “But from personal experience...none of us are going to live forever, and you never know what tomorrow will bring...I wouldn’t want to stand by and say nothing, watch you make the same mistakes I did. Don’t ever think love isn’t for you, or you’ll realize too late that it was.” 

Evi’a stared, trying to work out how to respond. It was the most Thancred had spoken to him directly since his arrival on the First, and he scarce could believe that his romantic life or lack thereof was the subject of the conversation, that the man was acknowledging his own issues so plainly.

“I haven’t been the best company myself,” he said at length. “Not to any of you, and frankly not to him either,” he admitted, inclining his head toward the Exarch. 

“Ah well, you’re fine by me anyway. Hard to be good company when you’ve got foreign entities knocking about inside your head,” Thancred said, with a poor attempt at a carefree shrug. “And I suppose in the interest of full disclosure, you should know that Y’shtola, Urianger, and I spoke, and we all know we’ve been remiss when it comes to showing our friendship. The twins, Lyse, hell, even Krile—they’ve all stood up for you, looked after you…and the three of us were always so busy with our own affairs that we let poor situations stand, even when we shouldn’t have. What I mean to say is, we’ll be looking out for you,” he ended quietly.

Again, he was at a loss, unsure how he felt about the three elder Scions feeling as though they’d been deficient companions, that he needed looking after. Though perhaps, given recent events, he _did_ need looking after from time to time—not that he was the only one.

“Your affairs were important, and I’ve never begrudged any of you your absence. That said, I’m grateful for your company now, and I’ll be looking out for you as well.”

“You always have,” Thancred said simply. “And it’s not lost on me that you’ve been trying here and there to do for Minfilia what I…what I haven’t been able to. Our dear lost Minfilia aside, I do care for the girl, I just…” he trailed off. “Forgive me, for this entire awkward conversation. I used to be so artful with my words as a spy, but with my true companions, it seems that my eloquence leaves something to be desired, and I find myself woefully unused to speaking from the heart. I’ve gotten better about it, but I’m aware that there’s plenty of room for improvement.”

“The same could be said for all of us, I imagine,” Evi’a answered with a bemused smile. “And don’t apologize, it’s good to speak with you. For what it’s worth, I’ve always known and appreciated that you considered me a friend.” Thancred gave a puff of laughter and looked to him with a smile.

“I guess you would have known with that Echo of yours anyway,” he said, shaking his head.

“Not just that,” Evi’a answered warmly, watching with ears perked forward as the Exarch said his goodbyes—and then started when the caretaker looked right up at him. _Of course he realizes you’re here, you fool_ , he thought to himself. He hadn’t given any indication of recognition in the bond, but the muffling was minimal at best—there was no way the man would miss him at such proximity.

“Well, go on then,” Thancred said, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. “We never have much free time, best get to it while you can.” He colored, ears half pinned.

“I’m not going to—“ he made to protest, but Thancred was already nearly returned to Minfilia’s side, and the Exarch was still looking up at him expectantly. _Well, no time like the present,_ he thought to himself as he raised a hand in greeting. Willing himself courage, he made for the stairs.

The Exarch stood as patiently as he could manage and waited—he knew Evi’a wished to speak with him, had known it since the Keeper had woke in the morning—and it was past time that they have a serious conversation. The past few days of candidly experiencing his warrior’s struggles down to the most frayed nuances, understanding in full what he’d inflicted… Perhaps he should not have allowed himself to experience so keenly, perhaps he should have tried harder to stifle the flow between them—but to look away for his own convenience felt cowardly. So instead he let himself be subjected to the anger and panic, the profound isolation, the secondhand horror of truly understanding what becoming an eater would mean, the smothering wholeness of Light.

It had been all he could do to hold himself together, to grimly remember why his warrior’s suffering was necessary. For a small blessing he did not have any important meetings to attend while Evi’a was off in the forest—he was not sure he would have been able to compose himself well enough to be of any use. 

There was nothing for it but to walk himself through the litany of calming steps he’d established over the years to right his troubled emotions and stand tall, but there was no denying that he was out of sorts, to say the least. How he wished he could have gone to his warrior, soothed him and eased his woes, but he could feel that the Keeper needed his own time to work things out in his mind, and furthermore, it would probably only upset Evi’a to see him. It was good that Alisaie went to collect the bard in the end—the Evi’a that the caretaker had known was years in the past, and odds were strong that the twins knew the Keeper better by now, much as it pained him to acknowledge. An unintentional bond run rampant did not equate to the intimacy of a camaraderie built over years of like cause and struggle.

How odd it was, to have his soul so closely intertwined with someone he loved so dearly, and yet they knew so little of what one another had become since their parting. Of course he read of the battles that Evi’a had fought, but so many personal details had been lost to history. He had changed as well, after over a century of waking life, but nothing could erase that he was still G’raha Tia, that the young man within treasured the memory of once being beloved to the man the world called the Warrior of Light. What they were to one another now, he could no longer say with confidence. They had struggled together, caused each other harm, held truths back to keep the peace…even in their younger days their relationship had been fraught. All he could say was that there was love, and it was time that he started showing it more in ways that they both could appreciate before they were driven to distraction.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asked softly and without preamble as the Keeper reached the bottom of the stairs. He felt the _surprise-worry-guilt_ flare through the bond as Evi’a frowned and nodded.

“If you have the time, I know I don’t have much right to ask, but if we could have a word?” he murmured, ears half drooped and contrition clear on his face.

“You have every right,” he answered firmly. “You’ve done so much for the First…if there is something you would have of me, and it’s within my power to give, you shall have it.” The Keeper blinked, confusion flitting across his features, before cautiously nodding again. “Come then, follow me?” he asked, and without waiting for a response turned on his heel to lead the Keeper out toward the aetheryte.

“Er, where to?” Evi’a asked, sounding discomfited. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“The Dossal Gate first, if you please, and then we’ll go from there. And we won’t end up in the Ocular, you deserve better than that from me by now. You did from the first, truly.” The Keeper’s ears pricked with curiosity, and he came along without fuss, followed the Exarch up the stairs and through the Ocular in a resigned quiet. It was clear the man felt terribly guilty, and he could guess why...he only hoped they could clear it up together. “I have a personal garden upstairs, if you should care to see it? No one will bother us there, and we can talk as much as you’d like.”

“I…I’d love to visit your garden,” Evi’a said with a confused half smile. “But…why now? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I seldom do things that I do not want or need to do,” he answered crisply, holding out a hand to spiral open the portal that led to his personal floors. “And what I have wanted these past few moons, and indeed for quite a great deal longer,” he continued, stepping through and motioning for the bard to do the same, “-is to sit and speak with you. Which I gather is quite selfish of me to act upon now, considering that I’ve sidestepped or avoided every attempt you’ve made to have a normal conversation.” Once he was sure that Evi’a was safely through, he turned and indicated for the Keeper to follow him. He knew they should be walking side by side, but for all his words he couldn’t bear to look at the man at the moment.

Day by day he grew ever more annoyed with himself, and on so many levels. All of his hiding for all these years had been worthless, and what was worse, he’d hurt himself with it so badly that he couldn’t function as the pillar of support he’d always hoped to be when the time came. When it was clear that Evi’a didn’t know him he should have summoned his courage and let the whole ruse drop, should have been able to take down his hood and walk in the newfound dark with his head held high and with proud eyes ready to meet those of the man who so valiantly fought for his cause. Instead, he foundered at the thought of showing his face, terrified of letting go of a plan he’d clung to as comfort for nearly a century. Here was his beloved warrior, doing his best to be brave in the midst of a torment that would only grow worse, and he shook all over in his bed at night at the thought of actually reaching out and being the intimate support Evi’a needed him to be rather than the professional, friendly support he’d spent most of his adult life training to be.

And he wanted that intimacy so very badly, needed that closeness as much as the Keeper, was reminded that the possibility was at his fingertips every waking moment thanks to the bond…and yet to give in to that yearning would be to acknowledge fully how foolish he’d been, how much time he’d wasted, and that the scheme for which he’d toiled and suffered so dearly had failed.

Then again, perhaps it was time to accept the painful truth, to stop cycling through the same tired arguments in his head like a broken orchestrion roll.

If he were to proceed—whatever that meant—what would be respectful, what would be safe, what would be best for both of them? He was also sick unto death of these questions, but they had to be considered. Either way, they both looked to die, and he could tell his warrior knew it. To stand by and not take the Light was out of the question—he had to atone somehow, had to at least try. But was that again not just selfishness, forcing someone who cared for him to watch him suffer before they both perished anyway? He was fully capable of sending Evi’a into the rift with the Light, knew the man would allow it...but even with centuries of resolve, the Exarch knew he would never be able to do such a thing. 

Gods, if only it weren’t for this bond—how he loved and hated it in equal measure, and how upset he was with the part of himself that succumbed to weakness and enjoyed being so close to his dearest one’s soul. It had been bearable at first, even a guilty pleasure, but now it was as a constant inexorable pull between them, ever urging them closer, gnawing away at their hearts when they were too far apart. True, there were nights when he’d dreamed of being bonded to Evi’a, of the life they might have had together if circumstances were different—but he had never wished for this unnatural, demanding fervor. He wondered if he would have been successful with his plans if the connection had never formed, but then, he would never know, and that train of thought was fruitless.

“You’re angry,” the Keeper murmured as they slowed before the final portal. He swallowed thickly, bowed his head.

“Yes. Yes, I am. But not with you, and I’m terribly sorry to let my ill temper show.”

Evi’a wanted to reach out and comfort him, he could tell, but he couldn’t allow it, not right now. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the man held him, what he would let go. But then again, the whole point of this was that he meant to lay a few things bare, show his feelings, bridge that gap...he just needed a moment. Nervously, he reached up to activate the humming portal and step through, and was relieved when the Keeper followed with only a clouded expression in response.

“Well, here we are,” he declared with as much bravado as he could muster. “Apologies for all of the portals, but over the years I’ve found it impossible to navigate the Tower in any other fashion.” Despite his rattled nerves, it was a delight to see the wonder in the bard’s eyes as he took in the garden for the first time. It was a personal project that had taken him a great many years to fashion into its current state, and he had never suffered a single soul aside from himself to look upon it. 

He had begun the garden in grief, the long years of loneliness and loss a burden that he first channeled into the latticed crystalline bridge arcing over the twin bathing pools, and then the carefully thinned crystal of the bay windows at the far end of the room. He spent a good year meticulously reforming the shining walls into shelves of varying depth, from which spilled ivy and samples of every flower remaining to the First. It was encouraging to discover the lengths to which he could bend the physical nature of the Tower to his will, and as time went on he improved at manipulating the crystal, applied his lessons to other areas of the Crystarium. Perhaps most notably the domes—every single crystalline pane parted from the Tower and shaped by his own hands per the builders’ requests. 

Eventually the work became a source of calm and even joy as the enclosure became a personalized manifestation of his ability to build and nurture. With increasing enthusiasm he brought in plants from every corner of the First left standing, until the walls and embankments were bursting with verdancy. With luck, in the early days of the garden he’d been gifted with a sapling from Rak’tika, and even at a quarter of its size the Greatwood towered over the rightmost pool and was quite exhilarating to climb. Twin waterfalls tumbling into the pools offered a lovely ambience, courtesy of a pair of water crystals he’d melded into the walls. As a final touch—insomuch as he could ever be finished—nestled in the concave of the bay windows he’d added a wrought-iron bench and one of the rounded, nest-like beds favored by his tribe when he was a boy, framed in the same pattern as the bench. 

The end result was beautiful, and he was not of a mind to pretend otherwise. It was refreshing and alive during the day with the muted refraction of the light along the crystal and the surface of the pools, and of late he found it very peaceful and serene by night. 

At his side, Evi’a shook his head with quiet appreciation.

“This is stunning,” he murmured, tail flicking thoughtfully. “Did you build this?”

“I did,” he said, a touch of pride coloring his tone as the garden did its job and eased his troubled heart. “It was the work of some years and a good deal of trial and error, but if I may say so, I’m pleased with the result.” 

“As well you should be,” the Keeper said, a smile finally playing at his lips. “This is incredible...you’ve really got some talent. I struggle to keep a potted plant alive, personally.”

“Well, I am cheating a bit with aethereal irrigation, among other things,” he acknowledged with a rueful smile of his own. Evi’a gave a chuff of laughter, and they stood for a moment casting their eyes over the garden...and then one another. “Ah, come, there’s a bench over here, if you’d sit with me?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered. They crossed the bridge in silence, the morning sunlight filtering through the crystal to dapple their skin. When they reached the bench, they stared at it for a moment in a mutual quandary, and then with unspoken accord sat as close as they could to one another without touching.

“So…” they said together, and then laughed quietly.

“You first, you’re the guest, after all,” he said with amicable resignation, well aware that they both knew this was going to be a hard conversation, a charged wire of tension running beneath their light words. Likely it was best for his warrior to lead...whatever he needed, the Exarch would do his best to give. And it would be easier if he could hear from the man himself, instead of guessing and grasping at what he thought was best as he’d done for so long. 

“I saw what you mean to do,” Evi’a said, his voice kind even as his hands clenched in his lap. “And I’m sorry for that. I know you didn’t wish me to find out.”

Ah, so they were going to get to it straight away then. He took a calming breath, took some time before he answered.

“You’re right, I didn’t. In fact, I have spent the greater part of my life fretting about how to keep you from that knowledge.” He smiled sadly, looked to the vaulted ceiling for a moment before turning his eyes to the Keeper. “However, I confess to an extent it’s a freedom to not have to worry about it anymore.” Evi’a frowned at him before looking down pensively at his clasped hands.

“As much as I don’t like what you mean to do, I didn’t have the right to take that knowledge from you. And don’t say I wasn’t myself, that’s no excuse,” he said in a low voice, tail flicking with agitation.

“I didn’t have the right to summon you without clearly explaining our cause. I didn’t have the right to let you take on this fight without fully understanding the repercussions. And if you’re worried about what you gleaned from me through the bond…you should know that I was all too aware of what you were feeling out in the forest these past few days, and I had no right to that either. Apologies will never be enough, but whatever I can do to keep you safe and comfortable, I will,” he said earnestly, his chest taking on an awful, displaced ache at the thought of the Keeper blaming himself for something that was bound to happen eventually anyway.

“Your mistakes don’t justify my own. And stop apologizing for summoning me…difficult as this is, you’ve given me a chance to fight for my own life instead of being cut down in the street by chemical warfare. Gods, what a way that would be to go.” He shuddered, ears half pinned with imagined horror.

“Indeed,” he said quietly. “When I found you’d perished in such a manner, I’m not ashamed to say I was beside myself. I would have done anything to spare you that. And well, here we are.” They looked to one another, and then back down at their hands at the same time.

“Are you still going to do it? Try to take the Light.” He glanced at the Keeper for a moment, a bare apologetic smile quirking his lips.

“Probably so. I don’t know what other course there could be at this juncture,” he admitted, and Evi’a took a deep breath.

“You could let me fight it?” the Keeper suggested weakly.

“Come now, that Light is going to have to go somewhere. It mustn’t remain in you, you know as well as I do what will happen,” he admonished gently.

“And you know as well as I do that either way it’s going to kill us both. There has to be another option,” Evi’a said stubbornly, squinting at him for good measure.

“Your’e right, but so far my investigations have come up short. I poured all my research and effort into this method, because I was so…so sure it would work. I never realized that the bond would swell to this degree,” he said, forgiving himself the waver in his voice as he clenched his hands tightly in his lap. The Keeper pinned him with a stern expression.

“Why’d you fixate on this, anyway? You’ve got the strength of this entire Tower behind you, but you chose the route where you fall on your sword. All these people,” he said, waving a hand out toward the Crystarium, “-they adore you. You must realize that.”

“Yes, I know,” he whispered, angry tears stinging at his eyes. He scrubbed them away, not bothering to hide his upset. _Admit it, be done with it,_ _don’t run away,_ he thought desperately. “It shames me to confess, but after all this, I wanted to be the one to save your life. I wanted to atone for summoning you like this, and…most selfish of all, I wanted to be free. I do believe in perpetuating hope, in creating a better world for our children even if we’ll never see it…but I have lived many times over the lifespan of my people, and have kept my motives and goals to myself for the duration. On my darker days, it becomes…quite wearing, and the Tower is not going to allow me to die in any natural fashion,” he said quietly, nails biting into his palms as he willed himself to be calm. Evi’a looked at him for a long moment, then cast his eyes back over the pools. For a time there was no sound save the soothing white noise of the tumbling waterfalls.

“And you hid yourself this whole time, because you didn’t want me to know it was you, because my Echo might kick in,” the bard outlined for himself, eyes distant. “But really, regardless of whether I know you or not, did you honestly think I’d be okay with you taking my burden and running off to die? Even if I survived, I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life, wondering if I could have done more. You offered me what appeared a transparent choice as to whether or not to fight for you, but what sort of choice is that when you leave out the bit about doing something so terrible at the end of it all?”

“You’d still be alive,” he said tersely, back straight, hands shifting to clench at his knees as he fought back frustration and shame. “ And that has always been my ultimate goal. It was never my intent to trick you. That said, what I do with my life is for me to decide, and someone must do this. Regardless of who bears it, the Light must go into the rift before the afflicted transforms, or the being that emerges will be devastating beyond compare. Of the two of us, I am the one who can open the rift, so I am the one who must go. And before you protest, I am not strong enough to send you out into the void…I could never.” It came out in a bit off rush, what was left of his heart rabbiting with adrenaline, his stomach churning with nerves.

“You’ve…made a lot of very important and difficult decisions all on your own, haven’t you?” Evi’a asked at his side, and when he forced himself to look the Keeper was regarding him very intently, his ears pricked to full attention and head canted just slightly to the side. The Exarch swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to words. He certainly had, and look where they were now. And gods, his memory had faded over the years, but with Evi’a this close he found himself recalling vividly how expressive the man’s navy eyes were, the way his forehead tribal marking always smudged a little, the placement of every brilliant starspeck across his cheeks and nose. He shifted as the Keeper tentatively reached out a hand, then withdrew it with a conflicted frown.

“Is it…would it be alright if I…” Evi’a asked, frustration with his inability to speak obvious as he lifted his arms slightly in clear invitation. Time stopped in that long moment he spent looking within his own soul, flicking his eyes from the Keeper’s pained expression to his outstretched arms. He’d let himself be held by the man before, but this was different. This would be both of them recognizing that they’d made dire mistakes, that their fates were inexorably tied, that whatever future was left to them, they were going to have to reframe and rework their expectations moving forward.

“I-Isn’t there more you wish to say?” he asked faintly, leaning forward an ilm despite himself. “I know you’re displeased with me.”

“I can be unhappy with your decisions and still care for you,” the Keeper replied, his words choked, ears pinning with tension. The bard’s words hit like one of his arrows, taking down the last tattered remains of the caretaker’s resolve. He let go a shaky breath, leaned forward a little more—and blessedly, Evi’a met him halfway and pulled him close. His heart hammered in the distance, and a low noise of need and distress tore from his throat as he buried his face in the Keeper’s shoulder. The acrid smell of light had crept into his warrior’s skin, but it had yet to mask the natural scent he remembered so well…of rain and smoked tea, of citrus and musk. Evi’a pulled him tighter, reached a hand up to cup behind his head, gave a soft hum of reassurance—even though the bard was trembling himself.

“Why are you equating loving me with failure?” Evi’a asked, voice raw with the pitched emotion running between them as he nuzzled against hooded ears.

The breath left him. Did he? Was that what the bard made of his grief?

Swallowing back nausea, he finally, finally worked past his own misgivings and fear enough to reach out and wrap his arms around the Keeper’s waist.

“I wanted to save you, I’ve never wanted anything more than to see you happy…but by my own hand, my own vows…that was never to be my lot,” he worked out between grit teeth. “I took some consolation that I…that I might keep the grief I caused to a minimum, in the end, but even that I could not manage…” he whispered, voice finally breaking. “I wanted to make you happy…!” He shuddered as the impossible, dearest wish of both G’raha Tia and the Exarch tumbled from his lips. Some removed part of himself disdained the plaintiveness in his voice, but still he clung to the Keeper like a drowning man as their bond got the better of them and their existences surged together and overlapped.

“I’ve got you,” Evi’a whispered fiercely, tail lashing behind him. “Let’s just sit here for a while, I’ve got you.”

And so they sat, swaying together as their souls traded ragged signals behind from behind crumbling walls, as he finally allowed himself to hold and be held, to dare to revel in their closeness, to take in the Keeper’s scent and appreciate it as something dear and present rather than aching and lost in the nostalgic distance. It was more difficult, however, to sooth himself enough to relax. Every muscle in his body felt wound tight both with his own emotion and sympathetic reaction to the Light cinching firm;y around the Keeper’s lungs as the man struggled to calm himself. The odd angle at which they were positioned on the bench didn’t help either. Even as uncomfortable as it was, he didn’t want to let go, didn’t want the moment to end, was afraid he would never have the like again if he pulled away.

“You’ve…you’ve a bed over there, I noticed, would it ease you to lie down for a while?” the bard murmured unsteadily against his hood. The Exarch read the tentative ‘with me?’ that Evi’a wanted to add (and knew better than to ask), but the bard had left it unspoken for the purpose of being easily ignored, which would save them both a good deal of trouble. Or would it? He could feel the Keeper’s erratic heartbeat where his forehead rested against the man’s neck, the Light pulsing and being forcibly pushed back. His warrior was exhausted, and in pain, and still he placed his own needs to the side out of concern for others. Would it be so terrible, at this stage, to give in to what they both wanted so badly, to acknowledge that the scenario he’d worked for was a lost cause?

He swallowed and nodded before his apprehension gave him cause to reply otherwise. They were both so overwrought, and he was so very fatigued.

Their connection made it terribly challenging to pull away, and his whole body cried out in protest as he forced himself to stand. Already the space between them felt as a great chasm, and he swayed with lightheadedness before the bard reached out to wordlessly take his hand. He gasped, closed his eyes as familiarity nearly overwhelmed him, the bard’s fingers rough in all the places he remembered—a testament to his long years with the bow. What he would not have given to stand in silence for longer and cherish the moment, but another round of vertigo claimed him, and to remain on his feet was like to end in embarrassment.

Thankfully the bed wasn’t far and he managed to sit down on his own, well aware of Evi’a standing by anxiously as his clumsy fingers struggled with undoing the clasps at the backs of his sandals. At last he was able to unceremoniously kick them off, and the cool floor was bracing against his bare feet as he looked to his inspiration, both of them working for what to say.

“Are you-“ the bard started.

“Would you-“ he began to ask at the same time. Their self-conscious laughs mirrored one another, and Evi’a leaned against the crystalline wall next to the rounded bed, arms crossed over his chest.

“…This bond is really something else, isn’t it?” the Keeper said at length.

“It is. I never imagined it would turn out like this, I can assure you,” he answered, resigned sadness blanketing his heart as he avoided the knee-jerk reaction to apologize. He wearied himself with apologies, and the bard had heard them all already, for the most part. 

“You know, I…” The bard frowned and shook his head, fingers clenched at his elbows as his inner struggle played out across his face. “I would have wished…I should have very much liked the time, and the freedom, for us to come by this in the usual fashion,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?” the Exarch asked, mouth dry. Oh, he suspected he knew, but he wanted to hear it.

“I mean…I suppose, without this bond, I’d never know about your plan, and you’d have kept me at a distance…but I’d like to think that even without this pull between us, we’d still be up here like this. Not…not having this conversation, obviously, but…well, you know what I’m talking about, I daresay,” Evi’a finished in a rush, flustered enough to look away into the garden.

“Yes,” he breathed, “I know.” No apologies, not any more—well, certainly not right now, at any rate. “I should’ve liked to come by this naturally as well.” There was no point acknowledging that it never would have happened—they both knew that.

“Me wanting to be up here with you is not just because of our bond,” Evi’a said, looking back to him with obvious exhaustion. “I…I can’t think I’d feel like this if it were someone else. Feeling your soul against mine, I can’t think of another I’d want close to me. There’s…missing pieces, but…” The Exarch curled his fingers into the cotton sheets as the Keeper trailed off and looked to the vaulted ceiling, then back to him again. “I do want this, want to be next to you, regardless of the circumstances. It feels right, and it has for some time. Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but frankly, I’m worn very thin, and I’ve never been one to fight my gut instincts overlong. I care for you, it’s that simple. If you want me, here I am.”

The Exarch took in a shaky breath, let it out again. Those were the words of a hero—unadorned, decisive, heartfelt—even if Evi’a didn’t realize it. The power to move forward, to forge new paths…and that force was directed at him. He could scarce believe it, could not hope to have the will to counter it. His lips parted, and he had to try a few times before the words would come. When they did, every fiber of his being was behind them.

“Would you care to come lie down with me a while?”

The bard pushed off the wall and stood straight, a brief hush passing between them as they stared with resolve at one another. Then Evi’a nodded, quietly made his way over, worked off his boots in silence. The Exarch watched with bated breath and a warm thrum in his soul as the Keeper hesitated, waited until he was invited with a gentle tug at their connection before he joined. No sooner were they side by side than Evi’a reached out to tentatively wrap an arm around his waist—and he promptly snuggled close with a bunt under his warrior’s chin for added measure, delighting in the sweet closeness. The Keeper huffed a sigh, nuzzled at his hood again in return…and within moments, they were both fast asleep.

When he woke the light was muted with the lowering of the sun, and his shift into wakefulness had nudged Evi’a out of his sleep as well. At any other time he would have blushed at having the Keeper so close with such a tender and thoughtful expression gracing his features, but today he was too wrung out to do anything more than accept and allow himself to enjoy their shared warmth. They lay in wondering silence for a while, drifting in and out of dozing, before Evi’a finally spoke.

“How are you doing? Is this still acceptable?” he asked, and the Exarch made a soft, positive sound, sent a wave of affirmation across; he still wasn’t ready for words. They subsided into silence again, the Keeper’s hand lazily trailing up and down his back. Sweet Azeyma, he could let the man do that forever, remind him that he still had a body that felt, a mortal heart that still loved, could still be loved.

“You know,” the bard said presently, “…you don’t need to make these big decisions alone anymore. You’ve got me, and then there’s the expertise of the Scions as well.” He exhaled shakily and pressed closer to the Keeper, who gave a hum of reassurance against his hood and returned to caressing the small of his back. He closed his eyes, lips parted as he enjoyed the intimacy of the touch, and willed himself to accept the support—although he was well aware it would take for more than a single day for him to manage such a feat. 

As much as he’d tried to improve his character in his many years as caretaker of the Crystarium, he knew that his penchant for making decisions on his own was a lifelong shortcoming. He’d had no playmates or companions growing up in his tribe, and so he’d always done whatever he wished alone, and all of his drive to go to Val had been his own. Once there, he kept to himself, his eccentric personality half the result of a lack of social interaction and half playacting to keep others at a safe distance, clearing his time to spend long hours studying Allag history as one possessed. Only Krile had ever broken through his artifices, and even now he wasn’t sure what she’d seen that made her try so doggedly to befriend him. Leaving her behind to take part in the Syrcus Expedition left a hole in his heart, and for the first time he’d found himself making an awkward effort to make friends, even acquaintances, that he might pass the time with. However, his first impression on others left something to be desired, and before he realized what was happening he’d regressed back into his old habits of studying alone.

And then Evi’a came to St. Coinach’s Find. The Warrior of Light himself, who inexplicably seemed to enjoy the odd scholar’s companionship from his very first day in the camp. He remembered thinking he was wishfully imagining the way the Keeper looked at him, the softness in his eyes, the sparkle in his laugh…even when Evi’a professed to care for him, he’d thought he was being teased. Those days were certainly not without stress and heartache, but they were the best of his life.

And still, even with all of his heartfelt adoration for the Keeper, he’d decided for himself that to seal the Tower was his immitigable Twelve-given destiny. He was sorry beyond all measure, but when the day of reckoning came, he turned his back on the man he loved more than life itself and threw himself on the Tower’s mercy without so much as a word of warning.

He nuzzled at the Keeper’s neck before he could think to stop himself, swallowing at a lump in his throat. Again, when faced with the 8th Umbral Calamity, he’d volunteered a further binding to the Tower without a second thought, because he felt it was right. And when he realized what the eventual outcome would be of Evi’a’s absorption of the Light, he’d immediately resolved to take on the affliction himself, and threw all of his research toward that ultimate goal. True, over the years the people of the First had taught him the value of teamwork, of self-care and friendship—but in his most personal endeavors, he always remained unyieldingly solitary.

Evi’a shifted against him, no doubt sensing the nature of his thoughts to some degree. 

“I can appreciate that it’s hard to include others in a fate that you feel is bound only to you…” the Keeper said in a low voice, “But if coming to the First has driven home anything to me, it’s the importance of letting others love you…and loving yourself. I used to feel as though I had to sacrifice myself at every turn to atone for those I could not save, to have value…but that’s not true of me, and it’s not true of you either. Don’t despair, not now, not after all you’ve done. With the Scions at my side we have accomplished feats considered impossible many times over…and I not going to lie down and accept my death—or yours—because it appears inevitable.”

His chest clenched at the Keeper’s words. To not have to sacrifice was a concept that felt oddly foreign, and the realization that he felt so alarmed him. Where was his bravery, where was the hope he spoke of when he confronted Vauthry? Insomuch as he lauded the strengths of the people of the First, where was his belief in friendship, in the fortitude of those around him, that his mind should always turn so quickly toward accomplishing his goals alone at all costs? 

To such hypocrisy he had fallen in his fear and self-isolation.

“No, I wouldn’t expect that of you,” he murmured miserably into Evi’a’s shoulder, painfully aware of the Light roiling within the Keeper’s form. “Truly, you have the heart of a warrior, and you would not be who you are if you stopped fighting.”

“I am only here today because my companions have stood beside me, believed in me, given me the strength to reach above and beyond what I ever imagined I could,” the Keeper said humbly, giving his hood another nuzzle. “Make no mistake, on some level, I am fighting for the peoples of our two worlds, but first and foremost, I am fighting for my kits and my dearest friends. For you. And all of you who care for me deserve better from me than noble sacrifice. I mean to give my life, my love, and my time for years to come. Now,” he said, apology, sorrow, and challenge mingling in his tone, “what of you?”

If his chest weren’t so tight he couldn’t breathe, if he weren’t so tired, he might have wept—but only a single sob burst from him, and he clenched the bard’s shirt so tightly that his fingers ached. For a long moment there was nothing but that agony, of being embraced tightly in return as the bard shared it with him, shaking hands pressed firm against his lower back.

He wanted to acquiesce, he wanted to promise to be a better man, to do better by Evi’a, and by everyone he loved…but reality was ever so much more complicated.

“I care for you,” he gasped, when he could finally speak. “You know I do, but this plight is far more important than my personal feelings…I made a vow to do my part to save the Source and the First…and I must honor that promise. I don’t have the luxury of falling back on hope alone—the consequences of failure are too dire. Though our chances may be slim, this is all I know to do, all my research—however flawed and misguided—has led me to. I can’t back down, not now, not even for you,” he choked, voice thinning into nothing as he finally broke.

“I care for you, too,” Evi’a murmured against him, and he shuddered as the Keeper’s tears fell to mix with his own.

He didn’t know how long they held each other and wept, but after a time their tears slowed naturally, and with stinging eyes and sore throats they lay together in thoughtful silence.

“Do you believe in me? That I can see this through to the end?” Evi’a finally asked hoarsely, ears drooped.

“I do,” he said, voice still watery. “I always have.”

“That’s good,” the Keeper mumbled. “Then believe me when I say I am going to give my Twelvesdamned best to see to it that we both get through this. Can you at least promise me you’ll consider alternatives?”

“Yes, of course,” he whispered. “I don’t know that there’s time to find one, but I’ll try. You have my word. If…If there were to be another way, I should very much like to give you my time and my love as well.”

“I’ll look forward to that, then,” Evi’a said, hints of a pained smile creeping into his voice. “How about…what about this?” he added, plucking hopefully at the hood. The Exarch closed his eyes wearily, reaching up to run his fingers over the edges of the thick fabric.

“…I don’t believe I ‘m capable, not yet,” he said apologetically, ducking his head with a mix of embarrassment and shame.

“Still worried about the Echo?” the bard asked quietly.

“In part,” he admitted, though not for the same reasons as before. Evi’a seemed so determined that their situation was salvageable—he dreaded what it might do to the Keeper if the man saw a vision to the contrary. And there was a part of him that also wanted to hold out hope. “But more than that, if I’m honest…” He swallowed, working up his courage. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you recognize me, but also…I don’t believe I could bear it if you didn’t.” He could tell the bard wanted to ask him something, but the man seemed to think better of it and cuddled him closer.

“Alright then,” Evi’a said simply, and didn’t press further. He gave a sigh of frustration and considered for a moment, staring up at the bard’s tear-swollen eyes. Surely he could do better than this, surely he had some modicum of comfort to offer to this man who had given him so much.

“I’m willing to compromise a bit, if you’ll have it,” he offered after some thought, biting at his lower lip. “I’ll take the hood down, but…but you mustn’t look,” he trailed off, feeling foolish. But it was something, it was progress, and he rallied with what energy he had left. “I…I could cast a blinding spell, if you wished, but I do trust you not to look.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can keep my eyes closed,” the Keeper said, and he was relieved to hear surprised hopefulness in the man’s voice. He was so worried his small step would be a disappointment, but Evi’a seemed genuinely pleased with the gesture and already had his eyes shut, eyelashes silvery against his cheeks.

“...Give me a moment, it takes some doing,” he said, pushing himself to up to sit. His fingers only shook slightly as he unclasped the outer decorative layers of his robe, and with a steadying breath he carefully lowered his hood, eyes darting anxiously to the Keeper despite himself. But Evi’a was true to his word, and kept still with his eyes closed as the Exarch rolled up the fabric, stuffed it in the hood, and put it all to the side. After some consideration, he added his arm guards to the pile. Left only in his simple black robe, he fidgeted nervously with his hands for a bit, then gathered enough courage to slide back down and close to his dearest inspiration. “It’s done,” he said softly, burying his head under the bard’s chin, enjoying the sensation of his freed ears flush against Evi’a’s beautiful night sky skin.

The bard made a low rumbling purr of delight in his chest, gave him a squeeze, pressed a kiss to the top of his head that threated to shut down what remained of his reason. When Evi’a nuzzled first along one ear and then the other, waves of adoration surging through their connection, the Exarch ducked his head and half stifled an utterance between a laugh and a sob, joy and sadness seizing his breath even as a blush rose and burned hot in his cheeks. For how many years had he pined for this, without any hope of such ardor ever coming to pass?

“Are you alright?” the Keeper asked, sounding abashed as he suddenly paused in his affections. “Sorry, I may have gotten carried away there.”

“I’m fine,” he groaned. “By all means, _please_.” Evi’a gave a chuff of laughter and another nuzzle, one hand wandering up his back to rest on his shoulder.

“May I…?” the bard asked tentatively, brushing fingers lightly into his hair to signal his intent. 

“Mmhm,” he hummed breathlessly, then gasped as Evi’a’s hand moved up and firmly pressed his right ear down, then put his elegant fingers to work massaging at the base. The same fingers that drew his bowstring, that carved his beautiful woodwork, tuned his old violin. A whimper of need and contentment escaped his lips at the sheer sweetness of the poignant contact, his cheeks burning even brighter against the bard’s chest, fingers working for purchase at his warrior’s back. How he’d dreamt of this, but he had never expected Evi’a to actually do such a thing for him again in his lifetime. The Keeper smiled against the top of his head, and when he brought the other hand up to work at his left ear, the Exarch made an incoherent sound and very nearly melted.

“Thought you were mi’qote,” Evi’a whispered, smoothing and massaging with his thumbs. “Seven hells, how are you keeping your ears under that hood all the time? That must be quite stifling.”

“It’s a glamour,” he mumbled, pressing up into the ministrations and struggling to form words. Sweet Azeyma but the man was good at that, and it had been so long. If he weren’t so wrung out with the emotional highs and lows of the day he might have found himself helplessly eager for...more...but at present the touch remained immensely comforting, and that this was also the bard’s intent warmed him to his soul. “Well, it is a hood, but without all the pointy bits and filigree it’s not as heavy as it looks.” He scrunched his eyes as he belatedly registered the rest of what Evi’a said. “Why did you think I was miqo’te?” Come to think, the Keeper had nuzzled at his ears nearly immediately.

“The way you laugh, the way you carry yourself when you walk. The way you crouched down when you spoke to the children at the Cabinet. The food you sent to my quarters. Your scent? It would be pretty difficult not to notice, honestly,” Evi’a said, the smile evident in his voice. His mouth fell open, and he groaned against his warrior’s chest. If there weren’t dexterous fingers working at his ears they would have pinned with embarrassment. Did his people know as well, and they were humoring him? Or...did it slide past their awareness, as did so many other things that he wished to keep secret? 

He froze as sudden cold fear reared its ugly head in his chest...what if the Tower had finally reached Evi’a with this last absorption? What if this intimacy was the Tower working its will on a weakening target, rolling Evi’a to give the caretaker the affection he’d so desperately longed for? 

“What’s wrong?” Evi’a asked, fingers stilling with worried alarm.

“I...don’t know...this, the Tower might have…” he stumbled, curling in on himself as he struggled for an explanation. “Th-there is precedent for...for this relationship between us, or at least, I believe there is, but…” He curled his fingers into his hair and gave a groan of distress. How could he have forgotten to consider this very real possibility? 

The bard’s hands withdrew from his ears, and for an agonizing second he thought Evi’a was going to get up—and he wouldn’t blame him if he did—but instead the Keeper wrapped him in a warm, firm embrace. Because that was what the Exarch wished for? He felt ill.

“Easy,” the bard said, his tone thoughtful beneath the comfort. “Let’s talk this through. Y’shtola mentioned to me that there is a sense of compulsion on the air here...does that sound right?”

He nodded, feeling wretched. “The Tower is...immensely powerful, and being bound to it in the manner I am, I...I’ve noticed over the years...life goes well at the Crystarium. Sometimes too well, I feel. I want to believe this is due to the resourceful nature of its citizens, but the level of cooperation here is...extraordinary, and at times, it concerns me, and I’ve made to look into it...but then I...I forget about it, and...there are so many things the people overlook for my sake, and I…” He swallowed, unable to continue, almost wishing for the Keeper to pull away and show some defiance, some righteous anger.

Of course, Evi’a stayed where he was.

“So you think perhaps the Tower is working its will to keep the peace in the Crystarium, and by extension influencing events to work in your favor as its caretaker?” His mouth was too dry to speak, so he made do with a bare nod into the Keeper’s shoulder. Evi’a gave a pensive hum, ran a hand up and down his back. He shivered, disappointed with himself for allowing the comfort, but unable to pull away. Gods, how he’d needed this to be genuine, needed to let go for once and not worry.

“The people suspected you’re miqo’te,” the Keeper said at length. “One guard mentioned that he thought he saw your tail, and I’ve seen children at play in the Sweetsieve insist that you were Mystel—and be hushed by their parents. On another note, I was told more than once that the reason people don’t pry into your past is out of love and respect...I know it might seem suspicious, but I don’t think it’s compulsion. And if there are parts that are…” Evi’a paused for a moment, tail thumping a gentle rhythm on the mattress. 

“You know I have a future-aspected Echo…and to this day, I’ve yet to completely prevent anything I’ve Seen. Even so, I believe in free will, and that what I Foresee is the result of not just my choices but those of many others. That, I believe, is the main part of why I can’t ‘fix’ what I see in my visions.” 

“Your early warning saved lives at the Switch,” he mumbled, wondering where this was going. “You were able to affect the outcome, if not alter it completely.”

“Yes, and I daresay it was the largest change I’ve been able to affect to date. But there is something unexplainable at play here, a force that shows me a tapestry borne of the choices of thousands of weavers. I won’t pretend that it’s not painful, because it is, but my choices still have impact, still alter that finished work that I Saw. Now, I’m just thinking out loud here, but…the Tower is a structure older than Eorzea whose origins are unknown, and apparently there’s a real chance that Hydaelyn is a primal and I’ve been tempered to do Her bidding.” The Exarch blinked and looked up to Evi’a with shock, even though he knew the Keeper could not see him.

“You have been studying the Tower then. And Hydaelyn a primal! You say it so casually. How came you by this conclusion?” he asked, temporarily stunned out of his silence.

“Emet Selch made mention of Hydaelyn and Zodiark being primals, did not dally about the fact that both he and I have been tempered to fight for them…and in retrospect, I have a gut feeling that in this at least, he is speaking the truth. I’d like to think not, but even if that is the case...well, I’ve made mistakes, but mostly I don’t regret what I’ve accomplished as Her champion. If I had to be tempered to fight as I do, to be the person who can save this world and the Source...so be it. And I don’t feel like I was compelled...and it’s not as though I feel any need to bow down or sacrifice to Hydaelyn or the Tower. Every battle I’ve walked into, I chose to go—and that includes accepting your cause.” The Keeper sighed, shook his head and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say, and poorly at that, is that there will always be forces great and small affecting me, but my ability to choose my response to what is being enacted upon me is part of what gives me my freedom and individuality. I am not the only man to be tempered by Hydaelyn, nor the only man subjected to the compulsions of the Tower, if that truly is the case, but my path has been my own because I have chosen how I will walk it. And this…” Evi’a pulled back a touch, adjusted his position to rest his palm against the Exarch’s chest. He watched, wide-eyed, his fear that he bard would register the lack of a heartbeat taking a backseat to his trepidation at what might come next. 

“You’re right, there are parts of our relationship that are inexplicable…my missing memories and the ones you hold dear, the unexpected nature of the bond, the way to the Tower responds to us both. But make no mistake, I…I truly want this,” the Keeper said quietly, losing steam and looking away as a blush rose to highlight his freckles. The caretaker looked to his bonded with wide eyes, breath stolen away as he watched a kaleidoscope of emotions play across the warrior’s face. Haltingly, he dared to raise a trembling hand to rest over where the bard’s pressed against his chest. “I…I know it’s unfair to be able to feel your soul as closely as I do, but I can, and…and you’re so _good,_ and strong, and stubborn, and I…I want better for you than what you’ve had so far. And maybe it’s selfish to say so, but I want to be the one to give you that happiness…and we are both going to have to _live_ for that to happen,” Evi’a rambled, his voice wavering in the end, ears drooping.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his dearest one, tugged him close and tight, opened himself fully to let their souls crash together. Yes, there was grief, confusion, anger, desperation, but the swirling star at the center of that galaxy was comprised of long wrought endurance and love.

“There _is_ precedent for this, I just don’t remember it,” the bard growled, nuzzling hard against his ears, fingers tangling into his hair. “And if this is not a ‘real’ emotion that I’m feeling, sweet Menphina, I’d like to know what is.”

“Mm,” he acknowledged, once again needing a moment for words. “F-forgive me for doubting, I…” He shook his head, buried his face back in the bard’s neck. He did yet question, he couldn’t help it—and he knew Evi’a knew how he felt—but that the Keeper truly believed his path to be his own gave rise to a terrifying hope in the Exarch’s soul.

“S’okay, I can feel a touch of what it’s like to be bound as you are, and today, it’s been a lot, it’s…it’s…” Overwhelmed, Evi’a lost his words as well. For the third time, they clung tight to one another until the tempest between them calmed enough to process rational thought. Little by little he came back to himself, heavy and dazed, and registered that the Keeper had taken his braid in hand, his eyebrows knit as he gently ran a thumb over the plait. There was a flimsy bubble of a question attempting to form in their connection, but the bard sighed and let it pop without asking. 

“…Can you cast your spell after all?” Evi’a asked, voice gravelly. “My eyes hurt, it might help if I could open them.”

“Ah, of course,” he murmured. Truly, after all this he would have preferred just to let everything go and be done with it, but he didn’t think he or his warrior could take another round of turbulence. “It alters depending on the situation. For now I should appear hooded as usual, but I won’t be.” Evi’a nodded his acquiescence, and it was a simple matter to see the incantation done. He winced as he took in the Keeper’s bloodshot eyes in the dimness of the early evening, and wondered if he looked as much a mess. Probably so. Evi’a pushed himself up to sit, and he followed suit, closing his eyes briefly against a wave of vertigo. Gods, his whole face hurt. Wordlessly he slipped out of bed and fetched them both some water from the nearby hose…and went back twice for more when the Keeper drained his cup.

“Sorry,” Evi’a muttered, rubbing at his temples. “I’ve been so thirsty, ever since the last Warden…and I have such a headache.”

“Understandable,” he said quietly, closing his eyes against the pounding of his own head. “You should probably eat something; we’ve been up here for a while. I imagine it’s dinner time or near enough to it.”

“Probably so,” the Keeper mumbled, “If you want, I should be happy to eat with you…but I could really do with a wash first.”

“I’d like that, and me too,” he said, scrubbing at his swollen face, sticky with half dried tear tracks. “If nothing else it would be refreshing to clean up.”

“Mm. If you’ll be so kind as to show me the way back down, I’ll wash and meet you again?” the Keeper said, a hopeful smile gracing his worn and paled features. The Exarch inclined his head with a half smile, looked out over the garden before turning back to his warrior.

“If…if you’d like, I’ve outfitted these pools for bathing. You could have one, and I the other,” he offered, ears flicking bashfully. Again, he would have liked to suggest that they bathe together, but was unsure what that would lead to…and they both needed some time and a touch of physical distance to gather themselves. It would be good to have the Keeper close by, though, and he didn’t really want the man to have to endure the inevitable stares he would get in his condition.

“That would be really nice,” the bard said gratefully. “If you’re sure.”

The Keeper found a low groan of appreciation escaping him as warm water from the rightmost fall sluiced over his beleaguered form. His entire body ached, worn from the emotional strain of the day, from leftover fatigue caused by his flight into the forest, from the Light threatening to burst from his chest. The indulgence of a heated shower in such beautiful surroundings and such dear company was nearly enough to have him nod off where he stood. Despite his throbbing headache, he was pleasantly aware of the Exarch behind him in the other pool, and he supposed that if he were in better form he might have been distracted by temptation. At the moment, however, it was just a comfort to have his bondmate near while he hazily pondered the future and scrubbed away the remainders of the man he’d been this morning.

From the soft braid at the back of the Exarch’s neck, the strands of red fur he’d found on his clothes when he’d undressed, he was near certain in his heart that somehow, inexplicably, the Exarch was the G’raha Tia he’d seen in his dreams. Of course he didn’t dare to ask, because if he was wrong he would break the man’s heart, and either way…the caretaker wasn’t ready for him to know just yet. Both of them had let go of so much in the space of a few hours, and in the Exarch’s case, emotions that he had held back for over a century. This was not the time for more questions—those could wait. What he had already been granted was so precious, so painstakingly given, he could not find any will in his heart to push for more.

Where once he’d questioned himself, he knew now—he loved the Exarch, had most likely loved the man even before he was the Exarch. The heady familiarity of his scent, of the sleek fur of those trembling ears under his fingertips, the caretaker’s breathy exhalations of pleasure…perhaps he couldn’t precisely remember these things from the past, but he had not forgotten them either. Perhaps he was being worked upon to an extent by the whims of the Tower, but that knowledge did not change the purity of what he felt for the brave, beautiful, inspiring soul that had come to be connected to his own. That the dear man had suffered so under the weight of his burden, thought so little of himself, was so afraid of a future outside the one he’d planned—it hurt Evi’a’s heart to think of, and so the Keeper did his best to cut off that train of thought. He was too weary for more emotional somersaults tonight, and it was up to him to not inflict torment upon himself at this juncture.

But he would see this battle through. He would find a way, he would scrape up every ounce of resolve in his soul, and he would do his part to see himself and his bondmate to happiness. There would be a way. There almost always was. 

“Ah, look at you, my poor sapling, all greyed out and ashen with your traipsin’!” a voice rang out in his ears, and he gave a very undignified squeak of surprise as his surroundings came back to him in a rush.

“Feo Ul!” he gasped. “Gods, give a man some warning! Also, we’re in the bath…?” The pixie twirled as they came into view before him, wings snapping angrily at the air as their small face scrunched in fury. 

“I don’t give a flying porxie about your bare arse or your member—and look at you! All bedraggled an’ poor! Didn’t think to ask your branch for help did you, of course not! You cruel, heartless creature, we but watch from our throne and wait, and wait, and wait some more, and nothing!” He blinked against the tirade, truly stunned, and nearly turned to the Exarch to seek plaintively for help before he remembered he promised he wouldn’t look. “Aye, that’s right, don’t you turn to him, your business is with me,” they scolded, coming close enough to give the thick fur of his damp ears a sharp tug.

The Exarch’s voice called out something in fae that sounded like an amused question from behind him, and the pixie responded in kind with a reply that gave the impression of saucy dismissal. 

“Have you truly not asked for anything?” the caretaker said curiously, switching back to common.

“As it happens, the one thing I’ve requested so far is privacy in the bath,” he answered, cutting a sideways glance at the stormy-faced pixie king.

“Oh dear,” the Exarch sighed. “Perhaps tomorrow, if you’ve time, I’ll direct your attention to a few tomes that aided my endeavors into understanding fae etiquette. Good luck, my dear one.” 

“‘My dear one’ now, is it?” Feo Ul asked, quieting their voice and eyeing him slyly. “My goodness, the details you do keep from your beautiful branch. And yet on opposite sides of the bath? Must still need some work,” they deduced, and flopped melodramatically down to rest on his shoulder. He sulked even as the blush rose weakly into his cheeks to be so named by the caretaker. The pixie grinned at him knowingly, and with an embarrassed flick of his ears and a resigned sigh he resolved to go about his business.

“How did you get in here?” he grumbled as he tried to scrub at his hair with one hand.

“The Tower granted admittance, of course, how else would I get in?” they said, shifting into a more comfortable position. “And you were both so upset, I thought I’d best come check on you.” So, the pact with Feo Ul allowed them to feel him as well? That was interesting to know, but he was too tired to deal with the potentials of that conversation, and instead asked the question that first came to mind.

“The Tower? Can you hear the music and see the gold too then?” he asked, only half surprised considering Feo Ul’s aetherial nature. 

“Aye, all pixies do, but I love the songs especially...this old one sings with the voices of a thousand stars, and though I don’t understand, I don’t tire of listening either,” they mused quietly, ill temper apparently forgotten. He blinked and looked down to where the pixie lounged on his shoulder, eyes far away as they stared out and across the water behind him. Alphinaud had mentioned to him before that he should speak to the pixies, but he’d never gotten around to it. Now that the opportunity presented itself he would be a fool to pass it up, even if he was perhaps too exhausted to process what he learned at the moment.

“Are you saying the Tower is...something like you?” he asked, carefully rinsing his hair so as not to splash the fae too much. 

“Oh, something like me, yes, but far more ancient than anything on the First. It feels...hmm, I wouldn’t know, but if I were to imagine an indulgent grandparent, it would be like this,” the pixie said peaceably. “I favor the atmosphere very much...like a star within a star.” He mulled that for a bit, trying to think of the right questions to ask as he moved away from the waterfall to sit chest deep in the shimmering waters near the edge of the pool.

“You are not the first to mention to me that the Tower might be a star unto itself. Do you know what the gold might be?” he finally asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Feo Ul’s wings fluttering against his cheek. 

“It’s life,” the pixie murmured, idly kicking their legs in the water. 

“Life?” he asked, when they did not look to elaborate. 

“Aye, it’s a gift from the Tower to the worlds that sustain it,” they said. “Look up.” Puzzled, he did as they bade—and gasped. The vaulted ceiling was thick with dazzling, aureate gold, spiraling in slow circles before rising higher to permeate through the crystal. His mouth fell open with awe—this certainly had not been in effect earlier in the day. “Ah, you must make our crystal sapling very happy, I haven’t seen the Si’il like this in quite some time,” they said softly, rolling over onto their back to appreciate the view. 

“Did...did the Exarch cause this?” he breathed, rapt as he watched the shining flow of light. 

“In his capacity as the Pillar, yes.”

“The Pillar?” he asked helplessly. Gods, insomuch as he loved the man, he still knew so little. He had a brief struggle with wondering if it were respectful to ask these questions...but he had to. He had to know whatever he could if he was to keep them both safe.

“The Pillar of the Tower? Hmm…” they hummed as they saw his confused expression. “Perhaps after another absorption you’ll see it more clearly.”

“Will you explain it to me now?” he asked quietly, skimming his fingers over where the gold reflected in the water.

“Oh, so now we want to ask for help, for tiresome explanations? After nothing for so long?” the pixie sniffed. “Come now, how do you ask nicely?” He gave a tired chuff of laughter.

“Feo Ul, my dearest, most beautiful, most beloved branch, would you be so kind as to explain to your remiss sapling the nature of a Pillar?”

“Well now, that’s more like it!” they crowed, then gentled their voice with a soft smile. “Are you sure you want to know? Our crystal sapling already grieves so for the burden you bear, for losing you twice over...whatever I impart, can you promise that you’ll still care for him?”

“Yes,” he answered softly. _Twice over?_ At this point, he couldn’t imagine anything that would stop him loving the man. 

“Very well then.” The pixie pulled themselves up to sit on his shoulder and squirmed until they were comfortable before continuing. 

“Now, no doubt from your forays into our lands you know that we fae are different in nature depending on our type...it’s said we pixies are the lost souls of children, and that’s why we crave freedom and play, why we can’t think overmuch on the future. By contrast, the Nu Mou naturally seek satisfaction from service and fair contracts, while the amaro want for a master to stay by their sides throughout their long lives. In a similar fashion, it is the nature of the Tower to wish for a companion, a voice to guide its roots and direction as it makes a world its home,” they explained, casting bright eyes affectionately about the garden. “In case it’s not obvious, your dear Exarch is that companion.”

“I guessed,” he answered faintly. “How do you know all this?” 

“The Tower tells me,” the pixie answered patiently. “Not in words, but in visions and song and the voice on the waves of Si’il--the life motes.” He frowned, rubbed at his sore eyes. He was so tired and famished, and that he hadn’t spoken to Feo Ul sooner was looking to be quite the oversight. 

“So, the Tower is...it moves to different worlds?” he asked, trying to find something that made sense.

“Aye, the Exarch told you, didn’t he? This Tower is the self-same Ancient One from your world. To be fair, it’s my understanding that its existence spans many stars, though my mind does not grasp how this is done. Not that I’ve tried particularly hard to suss out what it means, mind you.”

“So, I suppose the Exarch is the Pillar of the Tower because he’s the Tower’s companion. What exactly does that mean for him?” he asked, massaging at his temples.

“It means he is the arbiter of the Tower’s will. Through him the Tower accomplishes safety and peace in the world around it, and eventually its natural predilection toward renewal of life. In turn, the Tower will also grant its Pillar the ability to reshape the reality around themselves to accomplish the goals of said Pillar, which are highly likely to also benefit the Tower. It’s quite the symbiotic relationship. Too complicated and entangled for me, but certainly I can see the appeal.” 

“The compelling that Y’shtola spoke of,” he murmured, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

“You said you’d still care for him,” the pixie said pointedly from his shoulder. “Second thoughts, perhaps?”

“No,” he breathed, looking out tranquilly over the glittering water. “Perhaps I should be having them, but no.”

“Will you be thinkin’ in your heart then that some part of how you feel is the Tower’s doing? If so you’re better off to step back now. We pixies don’t care over much for affairs of love, but the Exarch is a good sapling, and he’s been a friend to me for ever so long. So, I’ll do him a favor and speak up. If you care for him, if you find his soul engaging and dear, his aims praiseworthy and correct, then keep this firmly in your mind: his love, his kindness, his good deeds, they are all his own. No matter what he says to the contrary when he’s feeling low.”

“That’s encouraging to hear,” he said sincerely. “Thank you, my dearest branch.” So it wasn’t just the Tower working its will on him, and the Exarch did have some manner of freedom after all.

They leaned over and pressed a spark of a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a dear sapling yourself, wouldn’t want you getting jealous,” they said, then dropped back down onto his shoulder, chin in hands as they looked dreamily behind him. 

“He’s beautiful, you know--you’re very lucky. You really should have a look!” 

“I promised I wouldn’t,” he said with an apologetic smile, and the pixie gave a huff of false disappointment.

“Ah, not even a drop of wickedness to make things interesting. Well, at any rate, you’ve stirred his soul this night...pity you can’t see him, all radiant in gold and shinin’ like the beacon of hope he used to go on about.” 

Evi’a hummed to himself, imagining the G’raha Tia he’d seen in his dreams nude and limned in gold, wading peacefully in shimmering waters of his own design, humble and glorious. It was a lovely thought. He rested his head on his knees, struggling against nodding off. There was still so much more he should ask, but he just couldn’t think clearly enough to sort it out. 

“Supposing we win, and all normalcy is restored to the First...what will be his fate?” he murmured, his hold on consciousness slipping even as he spoke. 

“Oh, if you lot emerge victorious?” he dimly heard the pixie say, their words as feathers on the wind. “I’ve not thought on it much, but if I were to make a well-advised guess…the rifts will close. Then, the Tower will purge itself of all remainders of poisoned Light and lay claim to this star. With nothing left to sap or hinder, the Si’il will spread renewed life to every corner of the First, and our dear Exarch will preside as caretaker over an age of gold flowing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on this chapter a bit more than the others--took an extra week to make sure the voices were acceptable. Despite the simplicity they long for, the nature of the relationship between these two is quite complicated, and it probably will be for a while to come.
> 
> If anyone is wondering, :"An Age of Gold Flowing" is a play on the Yoko Kanno track "A Time of Gold Flowing" from the Please Save My Earth OST. 
> 
> If you're still reading and enjoying, consider letting me know! Writing a story like this takes a ton of time and effort, and a little encouragement goes a long way! And if you want you can viisit me on twitter @syrcusgardens. As always, thank you for reading--and for sticking around for this long!


	11. Amh Araeng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evi'a fights his way to his fourth absorption, the Exarch (barely) tolerates an unwelcome guest, and the struggle grows ever more dire as the Keeper works to unravel the mysteries of the Tower.

Nearly a fortnight later found Evi’a and Thancred out in the wastelands of Amh Araeng, where they had spent the day in Nuvy’s Leavings Mines in search of a goodly chunk of leonine that might serve as a talos heart. Evi’a found that he rather appreciated the novel approach to mining--smoking out rock worms for the chips of mineral they might carry--in that it distracted him from the hard pressure of the Light against his ribs, the dragging progress of their journey, the incessant, longing ache of the strained bond. Normally he enjoyed this aspect of his duties--connecting with common folk, learning their stories, understanding more intimately how his actions and the results thereof intertwined with those of the locals, what they might accomplish working together. It had always grounded him, given him the courage to go on. 

Now, however, his sympathy felt mechanical in nature, and he found himself short on patience and goodwill more than he would care to admit. Perhaps it was a side effect of his increasingly constant nagging aches and pains, or that he just wanted a reprieve at the Crystarium with the Exarch, where he felt he belonged more and more each day. It didn’t help that the atmosphere between Thancred and Minfilia was always uncomfortably tense, and there was a growing part of him that wanted to give the gunbreaker a good shake. What he would not have given to see his own kits and tell them he loved them, and to watch someone he respected treating his adopted daughter with such ill grace was extremely trying. He wasn’t proud of how he felt, knew that Thancred was suffering, and that it was important to the survival of many to bring functionality and hope back to Twine...but really, he just wanted the damned trolley to get fixed so they could get on with it. 

He sighed and pulled his frayed traveling blankets closer around his shoulders as he watched their little campfire crackle away, envying Thancred’s deep slumber. He’d thought he might get some rest in the dark of the caves, but weary as he was he couldn’t get comfortable with the unforgiving rocky ground against his ribs and the sand tickling against his sensitized skin, couldn’t shut off his troubled thoughts for long enough to let exhaustion claim him. He longed to take out his violin and continue practicing for the brief performance he’d set up with the Wandering Stairs before he’d left, to further tease out the uplifting melody of love and hope that he was composing in dedication to the Exarch and the beauty of his experiences on the First as a result of meeting the caretaker. Music soothed him as nothing else seemed to be able these days, the smooth form of his bow against the strings a welcome comfort. But it wouldn’t do to wake Thancred or the other miners, nor to disturb the workers yet busied with sifting through the minerals the two of them had presented after the day’s work. 

He rubbed at his face, blinked back tears, the source of which he did not care to think on overmuch. 

“Feo Ul…” he murmured, the fae’s name passing unbidden from his lips.

“My wayward sapling, does he actually deign to call on his lovely branch?” they sang as they whirled into view. 

“So it would seem,” he said softly, bemused with himself. Perhaps he’d needed affable company more than he’d thought. At least he was beyond feeling guilty about summoning them--the Exarch had impressed upon him that it was rude if he did not take advantage of the contract from time to time, after all. “Everyone’s sleeping, my dearest branch, we’ll have to speak quietly.”

“Ah, look at you, just as greyed out as before if not more so, my poor bedraggled wee thing!” they exclaimed, ignoring his request and giving his ears a concerned tweak. “What will the other fae think, to see the ward of their king looking so pressed? Why do ye always wait so long before callin’?” they scolded, their impish little face scrunched with distress. 

“I...don’t know, I’m sorry,” he answered, frowning with confusion. Why  _ had _ he waited so long? With Feo Ul before him, he suddenly remembered that he’d a great many questions for them, that he’d meant to call them at his first opportunity and have a talk about the rifts pockmarking the atmosphere above Lakeland. How could he have forgotten something so important? Was it the Light muddling his thoughts, or the Tower preventing him from thinking constructively? He rubbed at his face again. “Feo Ul, I’d been meaning to ask...what are the rifts above Lakeland?” 

“Ah, those,” the fae sighed. “Will you ever be calling me for somethin’ cheerful now, perhaps a spot of play or a nice brawl?” He gave a tired smile. 

“I’m sure I will, considering there’s two wardens left.” The fae raised a skeptical eyebrow, then fluttered down to perch on his knee. 

“That’d be the work of the Tower, in a roundabout way. Can’t think it’s on purpose, considerin’ the Tower builds life and this is the opposite o’that. Nay, this is...hmm, I suppose you could say, a parasite. Although the rifts are servin’ their purpose, seein’ as how the First is still standing.”

“What do you mean? How would the rifts be helpful?”

“Well, we’re drownin’ in Light, are we not? Think of it as poking some convenient holes in the air to drain the poison. Very clever indeed, otherwise we’d probably all be eaters by now,” they said with a shrug, kicking their legs joyfully at a few sparks that floated too near. 

He frowned, put off his thoughts a bit that the rifts might not be so malignant after all. 

“Any idea what’s on the other side then, where the Light is draining to?” 

“Ech,” the fae grimaced with distaste. “A few of ours ventured close, and came back faded unto transparency for having their aether siphoned so viciously. There’s something dark and ravenous through those portals, and we’d all do well to stay clear. That means you too, my dear sapling,” they said firmly, adding a sharp little pinch to his leg to underscore their point. 

“I don’t mean to,” he answered hastily as he rubbed at where they’d marked him, not bothering to add that he had no idea at present how to fight what was beyond the rifts anyway...and at this stage, he almost certainly did not have the wherewithal to do so. “Feo Ul, you’d mentioned the Tower needs a caretaker...is it possible that it might have two caretakers in tandem?” 

“Ah, a clever question!” the fae crowed. “I’ll give you a helpful hint. When it comes to our people, and the Tower itself, it’s always important to ask the right questions.” He blinked, ears flattening with surprise.

“I...I can ask the Tower questions?” he asked blankly, and the pixie tsked at him, shaking their head indulgently. 

“Does the Ancient One not sing songs of welcome for you, does not the crystal intone beneath your feet at your passing? Seems to me that it’s signaling its intent loud and clear, little sapling. Ask the right questions, and you’re like to have your answers.” He stared agog at the little king for a moment, then buried his face in his hands. 

“Sweet Menphina,” he whispered, feeling an abject fool. There was no point being upset with the fae for the nature of their people, and he supposed he should forgive himself considering the circumstances, but  _ gods _ . 

“Oh, come now dearie, you’re under a great deal of duress, and in particular you’ve got the Tower working at you, for good or for ill,” Feo Ul murmured sympathetically, reaching up to gently stroke at his hair. “To answer your question, long have I felt the presence of another, an entity both fierce and sickening with a power in its own right. Mind you, this is only my interpretation from the melodies on the wind, but I believe the Ancient One sought to supplant this twisted creature with our own crystal sapling, having no means to be rid of it in the first place.” 

“Xande. It’s Xande,” he muttered with utter conviction through his fingers before straightening with a wince, rubbing at his sore lower back. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t being allowed to remember what he wished. If Xande’s undead form truly was secreted away somewhere in the Tower, it made sense that he wouldn’t want Evi’a to know, would be using the structure’s compulsion to his own ends. He’d studied enough Allag history one way or the other in the days since his journey to the First to understand that Xande was the first to summon the Tower to the Source, and therefore likely by default its caretaker at the time. And according to G’raha Tia’s journal and Rammbroes himself, Xande was still up there on the Source Tower, and if this Tower on the First was the same one, then… 

“Feo Ul,” he said slowly, “Does the Exarch know about all this? About...about the parasite, and the rifts?” 

“I haven’t the faintest, haven’t asked him,” the fae said airily. “Although, surely he must? Regardless of the machinations of this other entity, he  _ is _ the Tower’s chosen caretaker, after all.” 

“Why wouldn’t he do something about it, if he knows?” Evi’a mused, and the pixie raised their eyebrows pointedly. “Yes yes, I know, I’ll have to ask him.” Privately, however, he suspected that either his beloved Exarch was being blocked from realizing the truth, or that it was a suffering so private and traumatic that the man could not speak of it. Regardless, it still didn’t make sense that the caretaker was convinced they’d defeated Xande together. There was an off chance that whatever lurked in the Tower was something else entirely...but he didn’t think so. 

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Feo Ul asked, already distracted from their conversation.

“Looking for leonine to power the talos so we can run the trolley,” he grumbled. “It’s taking forever.”

“What, one of those rock creatures? I’m sure I could have had that going in a snap, but if it pleases you to search for stones, by all means,” they said with a shrug, looking once more to the fire. He closed his eyes, tail flicking as he took a calming breath, then looked wearily down at their diaphanous wings fluttering and sparkling with aether. 

“I don’t suppose you can just tell us where the Amh Araeng warden is?” he asked, just in case. 

“I can with time, if it’s important to you. But wasn’t the girl making this journey to sort it out for you lot?” they asked, turning once more to peer up at him shrewdly. 

“Yes,” he said heavily, and in the same breath knew that regardless of where the warden might be, Minfilia needed this trolley to run, needed to have this duality of being sorted once and for all to be able to live the rest of her life as the master of her own soul. What right he had to choose her journey over the quicker path to the warden was debatable, but he couldn’t help feeling she deserved to make this closure on her own terms. And as for the talos, how much healthier it would be for the people of Twine to have a hand in solving their own problems than for a majestic fae to just make things right for them. Still, there was a limit to how sentimental he could afford to be.

If this business with the leonine didn’t work, he would have to ask Feo Ul for aid, and let that rest on his conscience however it might.

Thankfully however, an incredulous Guthjon returned in the morning bearing a chunk of stone mined by none other than Magnus’ late wife, and he never had to make that uncomfortable decision.

Gently encouraged by the quiet melodies of the Ocular, the Exarch fidgeted for a moment before huffing a sigh of annoyance with himself for his pointless nervousness. As decisively as he could manage, he tapped his staff against the crystalline floor, watched with bated breath as the mirror fogged with calculation. 

And then there he was, well as he could be in Amh Araeng—Twine, by the look of it. Of course, he’d known Evi’a to be safe, could have likely seen the man’s surroundings for himself through the Keeper’s eyes with but a little concentration...but to take such liberties still felt wrong, and he’d wanted to see his warrior so badly. Knowing he had the bard’s express permission for this sort of scrying eased his heart immensely, but some part of him still felt as though he were peeking in where he shouldn’t. And unexpectedly, with all that had occurred between them, looking through the mirror at his dear one made him feel even more lonely, more  _ other, _ as though he were staring through the glass at a life he might never be a part of for all he was welcomed.

He wished he might have said more ere they parted, but whatever came to pass he would always treasure the one night he’d been able to spend warm and close as they both slept, too exhausted for anything more. Still, he should have...it would have been nice if he were brave enough to dare even a brush of a kiss, but he wasn’t, and they hadn’t. He tensed against a reflexive wave of shame for even thinking of it. Evi’a wouldn’t want him to feel badly for his thoughts, had made his interest clear. And if he yet had any doubts, they were easily dispersed by the splashes of longing that the bard could not hope to keep to himself. The Exarch was more practiced at keeping his feelings close, but there were only so many starbursts of affection he could take from the great love of his life before he had to hide somewhere and blush into his hands. 

He ran gentle fingers down the smooth plane of the mirror, a conflicted smile curving his lips. It was comforting to know he was cared for, that if by some miracle all went well, there was a speck of hope he might cling to for himself. All the same, that comfort was a double-edged sword. The Keeper’s touch had set off a flame in him that he’d long kept stifled, a deep and desperate craving to love and be loved, to be known for who he was, to spread his wings and range from the Tower. Where once he’d been able to smother these more selfish inclinations with numbed acceptance, he now found it considerably more difficult to sit and accept his lot at a time when he needed his patience and fortitude more than ever. The Tower walls felt too close, his mind wandering along with flickers of sensation along their bond—the warmth of the campfire against his cheeks, the bitter smell of ale in Twine’s lone tavern, the eerie howls of desert wolves echoing across the dunes. He knew he could not afford these distractions, and yet...

Butterflies swooped in his stomach as the reflection of the bard quizzically looked up from the talos and directly into his eyes, gave a little wave of recognition that was echoed with fond, weary amusement over their bond. The caretaker swallowed as he sent a bump of shy acknowledgment, coloring clean to the tips of his ears...he’d never expected the Keeper knew when he was being watched. Perhaps it was an effect of the third absorption. Just as he bit his lip and thought to attempt sending a more complex message over their connection, the crystal gave a warning hum, and an unwelcome presence cut short his warm curiosity.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt anything, do carry on,” a nasal voice drawled behind him, and it took every onze of his years of self discipline not to growl. He thought to let the mirror fade, but no, he wouldn’t give Selch the satisfaction. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your extended stay?” he asked, more archly than he’d intended. Gods, but he was sick of this man, of his snooping about the Tower in places where he did not belong, of his uncanny knack for sidestepping wards and seals that had kept everyone else out for years. He’d tolerated it so far, but if Selch ever so much as stepped foot in the Umbilicus or his personal chambers, they were going to have a...disagreement. 

“If you must know, I’m enjoying the pleasure of napping where I won’t be bothered. Personally I’m not a fan of overabundant Light...given as I am to traveling hither and yon through paths woven of healthy darkness, this affliction of your shard is vexatious, no matter my hand in the affair. Better to let you lot get on with it, full of fire as you seem to be. Such passion, so fleeting and soon forgotten…” the Ascian trailed off, sadness coloring his tone. 

The Exarch firmed his mouth into a line and stared ahead. He could only imagine what the Ascian had been through, but he was hardly inclined to sympathize. Part of what the man was saying was genuine, certainly, but there was also the manipulative undertone beckoning the caretaker to question his own passion, consider how much he’d been forgotten by the one he loved most. 

He would not. He had not suffered for more than a century to be baited in his own home by one of the beings responsible for his toil in the first place. 

“Come to think of it Exarch, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you retire to your chambers for so much as forty winks. Tell me, how do you keep your eyes from closing?” 

He remained unmoving. So, the Ascian knew of his long sleep and was showing it off, was he? Perhaps he even knew of the Exarch’s unfortunate Tower-induced slumbers. He would not give Selch the pleasure of seeing him discomfited. 

“The cold shoulder? You wound me, sir.” He listened, still as a statue, as the Ascian insinuated that by neglecting to inform Evi’a and the Scions of their conversations, the caretaker was being insincere, to which he calmly countered in turn that Evi’a had more useful targets for his energies. Galling as Selch was, he had yet to cause real harm within the Tower, and that his inspiration was already under duress was obvious. It would not do at this point to give the Keeper another thing to worry about. Besides that, despite what the summoning made the situation appear, he was not in the habit of pointing Evi’a at his enemies--and he told the Ascian as much, in no uncertain terms.

“Is that right?” Selch murmured, and there was a brief pause as they both watched the Keeper speaking earnestly with the Twine engineers, the reanimated talos awaiting its instructions before them. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

It took all the self control he had not to whirl and pin the Ascian to the floor with a glare sharp enough to kill. There was an enigmatic layer in his tone, something that was not just a threat, and it sent a frission of adrenaline surging through the Exarch’s veins. 

“Your lack of response speaks volumes,” the Ascian said quietly. “You would not be the first to pine after the beauty of his soul.” He took a breath, clenched his teeth. 

Had the Ascian  _ loved _ Evi’a, all those ages ago, before the sundering? Did he still? Was that what this was truly all about? 

“You continue to fascinate me, Exarch. But tell me, who are you?” 

As if the man didn’t know, after he’d clearly implied he was aware of G’raha Tia’s long sleep. 

He listened, took his time to compose himself as Selch went on about having a hand in the Allagan Empire, about knowing what the Tower was and was not capable of...and included the summoning in that equation. Beneath his hood, the caretaker raised an eyebrow. 

So he didn’t know everything then, as much as he went on. Given as he was to lazily wandering in and out of his machinations, there was a very real chance that the Ascian had not been present when Xande summoned the Tower, was not aware of the full extent of the Emperor’s bonding with the structure...nor the nature of the Tower itself. On the surface the structure did what it was summoned to do, which was store solar energy and power the Allagan Empire, but what it actually  _ was _ appeared to be lost on the Ascian, and the Exarch certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him.

Still, it was past time that he gave a proper answer. He lifted his chin, turned, and faced down the being that was responsible for the greater part of the First’s suffering, for all its people and countless others had been forced to endure as the Ascians pursued their genocidal Great Rejoining. 

“You would know who I am?” he asked imperiously, bearing up proudly under the veiled sharpness in Selch’s laconic stare. “I am the adjudicator of the sacred history with which you dared trifle. I am keeper of this Tower’s boundless wisdom. The wisdom of Ages without Age. Of everywhere and nowhere. The great work of those who tamed the wings of time and grasped the nature of the rift. ‘Tis a boon born of sacrifices yet unmade...The parting gift of brave heroes who will one day give their lives for a brighter future. I will not see their hopes and dreams squandered. The history that led us here will be unwritten. I promise you that.” 

“Well, it seems we are both eager to fulfill our duties, then,” the Ascian said, his stare turned pensive and...regretful? 

“On that much, we are in agreement,” the Exarch said tersely, struggling not to bite off his words. Selch angled his head to the side, crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Tell me plain though, what sort of adjudicator of sacred history does what you’ve done? Unless by your clearly superior authority the laws of time and accountability don’t apply to you.” 

He took a slow breath, caught off guard and unable to follow. To his dismay his body language must have given the tell of his confusion, because the Ascian raised his brows, then gave a sardonic smile. 

“You...don’t know, do you? Most interesting. Allow me to elucidate, then, that I’d taken a preoccupation with our dear Evi’a’s soul lifetimes before he was the man he is today, and if I may be so bold as to clarify, he never stepped foot into this Tower until the day you summoned him to the First.” The Exarch willed himself steady, to be still and calm even as what remained of his blood ran cold. “If you don’t realize that much, then it stands to reason that there are a number of other realities beneath your own roof to which you are sadly not privy. Most fascinating indeed,” Selch drawled, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “By all means though, do continue your work, oh great adjudicator. It will serve its purpose in the end.” With that, the Ascian was gone, vanished in a burst of dark, sulphurous aether. 

He clenched his staff so hard his knuckles went white, turned shakily to look to his beloved inspiration in the mirror.  _ He’s lying, G’raha, don’t allow him to trouble your heart.  _ Evi’a’s image trailed off his conversation, looked up to him in concern, a questioning tone sounding along their connection. He sent back a reassuring note, wishing it didn’t sound so tremulous. How selfish, to scry like this to soothe himself, only to make the bard worry about him. He took a shuddering breath as a little wave of love washed up against his soul, eddied away and came back stronger. Unable to help himself, he stepped forward and let his forehead rest against the cool glass of the mirror, as though it might somehow bring them closer. 

He wanted the Ascian to be lying, wanted it so badly...but Evi’a, the Scions, and now Selch all claimed that the Warrior of Light had never been to the Tower, and it wasn’t as though traveling through the rift had addled  _ all _ of their minds. He pulled away, pressed one hand comfortingly against the glass as he raised his eyes to the shining, vaulted ceiling. Something was being concealed from him, some vital factor of the summoning, or the nature of the Tower, or possibly what he had become as the bonded caretaker. Perhaps all three. 

There was no deluding himself, he was frightened more and more each day by the implications. And if Selch knew who he was, there was nothing to stop the Ascian from jumping the rift and murdering the caretaker’s younger self in his sleep, if ever he ceased to retain the man’s fickle interest. There was a chance the Tower might protect him, but the way Selch lounged about like he owned the place and broke through wards as one might prick a bubble, it didn’t seem likely. 

Another wave of love washed over him, and he blinked back tears, ran his fingertips over his inspiration’s reflection. Evi’a was frightened as well--who wouldn’t be, with three wardens gnashing beneath their skin? But the Keeper carried on as he always did, because he had to, because he couldn’t bear to lie down and give up knowing that he was both their worlds’ only means of salvation. The Exarch took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, rested his forehead against the glass once more as he sent his own love back, stronger than he’d ever dared previously at such distance. 

They might be frightened together, but they would also be courageous together, come what may. 

In the stale air of the higher levels of Malikah’s Well, Evi’a spit out the grit that had flown into his mouth during the fight with the giant armadillo, raked off the sand that clung to his sweat slicked skin, and hoped that his actions covered how winded he was even though the fight had yet to grow truly serious. He could feel the warden beneath them, hollowly casting its Light about the dry darkness, could feel the roiling aether even from this distance. The energy in his chest gave a nauseating surge, and he forced it back with a throttled gasp. 

“Everyone holding up alright?” Thancred asked, looking rather worse for wear with his coat torn half to shreds and his face yet bloodied and bruised from his brawl with Ranjit. At any other time Evi’a would have felt the gunbreaker’s question was pointed at him, but with Ryne’s soul newly merged, Thancred himself only too recently dragged back from death’s door, and the twins pale as ghosts from the efforts of such complex healing, most of their group was well short of peak form. He was trying to reach his battle high but could not quite manage, the three foreign entities within snarling to life in recognition of their brethren in the depths clawing at the shreds of his concentration. Deep in the back of his heart he wondered how he would ever manage a fourth absorption, but he quelled his fear, took solace in the Exarch’s presence firm against his soul. If that beloved miqo’te gave a century of his life at dire personal cost for the sole purpose of calling Evi’a to do this job, Menphina help him, he would see it done. 

“I’m fine,” he answered, proud of how steady his voice was as he straightened. He could see them looking to him, saw how the twins’ eyes lit up with relief at his words, and he gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

When this got worse, as it inevitably would, he was going to have to give everything in his power to keep them from discerning the full depths of the damage, for as long as he could. It suddenly came to him that he understood more why the Exarch hid as he did--it was so hard to show loved ones your suffering, so much more healing to see their smiles and laughter than be subjected to their worry and concerns. He’d felt such inclinations before, but never stronger than in this moment. 

And so they moved on, with him drawing up the rear as they’d decided before entering so that he might save his energy. He didn’t particularly care for Min...for Ryne being in the lead beside Thancred, but she had undergone a great and admirable trial to come into her ability to sense the wardens, and he wasn’t about to take that from her, did not have the heart to note that at this proximity--and indeed from several malms away--he could easily have found the creature on his own. 

He was shaken out of his thoughts as Alphinaud held back to join him, sky blue eyes hard as they fell into pace together. 

“Let me fight beside you while I may,” the elezen said, and it wasn’t a question. They shared a quick glance, and Evi’a nodded firmly before continuing on. Well, perhaps he wasn’t going to be able to hide his condition from Alphinaud for long—they’d been traveling together longer than any of the rest of them, and though he loved the Scions, there was no denying there was a special place in his heart for his friendship with his little brother. He expected Alisaie to fall in with them in short order, but she held her place on the right flank, perhaps sensing that her sibling needed this time. If he were to guess, the scholar was probably feeling at odds for not joining his sister when she came to search for him in the forest, and needed to right that imbalance in his heart. 

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said simply, after the next round of minor eaters fell and the elezen saw to his scrapes and bruises, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. “It’s always been good to have you.” Alphinaud offered him a brief, genuine smile, and after his heart did feel a bit lighter, even as they braved the lower depths and the weight in his chest grew crushing, even after a particularly annoying specimen of talos drenched them all to the bone and left their clothes cumbersomely heavy and caked with sand that grated into their skin. Every time he thought he might falter, Alphinaud’s familiar healing washed over him, so warm and welcome in comparison to Selch’s violation. Along with the Exarch’s steady presence, those small, constant reminders of love and friendship in the form of breezy cures and a stabilizing hand to his shoulder made all the difference. As they progressed further into the depths his thoughts grew hazy with battle and aspected Light, but he remained aware of the others at his side, of how they adjusted and wove their actions together seamlessly with his. 

When finally they reached the lowest levels, near blinded by primordial light, the air so clogged with aether that it seared the lungs, he was ready to let his awareness fade as he stepped forward to fight. Let the felled wardens howl at the core of his being, let the terrible creature before them sing as it brought whirling razor sharp wings to bear. 

He loved these people, and he would not fail them. 

It was the strangest sensation to be running and yet be freed of the air knifing through his lungs, his feet lighter than he could ever remember. There was a distant, blunted ache in his chest, a familiar, insistent spike of pain in his skull. He thought he could feel sand whipping against his skin...but that couldn’t be right, because he was in the Tower, although he thought he’d been in the desert? Either way, what was important was the descent, to make it to a destination his soul would know when he arrived. There were odd mechanical creatures that looked like living coffee pots, but there was no time to bother with fighting them. Nimbly as he could manage he sidestepped their spindly appendages, dodged the aetherial attacks thrown his way until they lost interest. On and on he ran, stumbling down meandering staircases as the ground rocked beneath him, the music of the Tower foreign and urgent compared to the sweeping, uplifting melodies he always heard above ground, the chambers and metal walkways dim even in the refracted light of the crystal. 

At long last there were no more stairs, and at the end of a poorly lit hallway there was some manner of complex, winged machinery surrounded by lazily swirling portals. He crouched and peered ahead as sharply as he might, shaking his head against the fog clouding his thoughts.

Why was he here? Something hard and jagged pressed against his right palm, and when he looked down and unclenched his fist, he found that he was carrying what appeared to be dried orange peels, brown and leathery with age. Immediately he knew they were of critical importance, but what he was to do with them, he could not say. When he looked forward again, he could make out the portals more clearly—each of them reflecting their own Tower in the distance. The machine however seemed wholly preoccupied with a single gateway, into which it set a beam of unknown nature, clattering and vibrating with the effort of its task. 

An unknown but oddly familiar song sank its chords into his heart, and instinctively he crouched and padded forward, ears pinned as he crept along close to the chill flooring. The nearer he drew, the more detail he could discern, Towers in multiple, all sentinels in sprawling cities save one that swayed in the grasp of what seemed an eternal tremor...and another, standing alone amongst the defining crystal of Mor Dhona. He stilled his breath as he slunk closer, so near to the underside of the winged machina that he could have reached out fingers to brush against it if he wished. Every muscle coiled and ready, he fixed his eyes on the Mor Dhona Tower, squinted against the beam’s light into the reflection. 

And just there, along the base of crystalline blue, he caught the flash of a red tail out of the corner of his eye.

He grit his teeth, clenched the orange peels tight in his fist, and sprang forward with all his might.

He jolted awake, blinked against the brightness of the room as his vision swam and a sharp burning sensation flared up his torso. His chest constricted, he couldn’t breathe, felt claustrophobic in his own skin. In a blind panic he clawed at his throat, then bolted upright and was abruptly, wretchedly sick. 

At least it didn’t last long, and when he was done he could breathe again. Still he remained hunched over his hands for a while, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders trembling as he struggled for calm, for his body to settle. He hurt all over, and his throat burned, but at least after a long moment his heart slowed and his stomach ceased its churning. He swallowed, dared to open his eyes...and whimpered to see the vile white slick clinging to his hands. 

“Oh no,” he rasped, and had to struggle very hard to not be sick once more. 

“Easy there, easy,” a voice at his side murmured with grim softness, and with a start he turned to look into Ardbert’s concerned blue eyes. “You’re back at the Crystarium. About the safest place you could be, at least.” He stared at the ghost, then numbly back to his befouled hands. There was a tentative bump of anxious warmth against his soul, and after an initial reflexive jump of distaste, he realized it was not a warden but his dear Exarch. Although the contact had fled with dismay at his reaction, the familiar sweetness brought him back to himself, cleared his mind enough to be able to think constructively. He sent along a distracted, weak flutter of love and apology as he cast about for some means to get cleaned up before anyone else could see the mess he’d made. Or worse, what he was becoming with this latest absorption. 

How he longed to see the caretaker, to nestle up against him and just sleep...but not like this.

“There’s a pan of water on the bedside table...Alisaie was here earlier looking after you. You’ve been quite feverish.” He grimaced with distaste at the thought of worrying his little sister so, but carefully maneuvered his legs over the bedside and set about washing himself as best as he could. Gods, what was he going to do about this acrid, foul smell? There was no mistaking that scent, and he didn’t think he could bear questions from his companions about it at the moment. At least the window had been left open, for a blessing. Perhaps the room would air out before anyone could realize. 

“How did I get here?” he asked, extremely grateful that the warrior was present to distract him from his disgusting ablutions, from the terror stalking the perimeters of his heart.

“Under your own power, far as I can tell,” Ardbert answered, “Though you were clearly not all present...you went distant and quiet after the absorption, and by the time you got back here you were quite ill. But you were successful,” he added quickly, no doubt responding to the worry flooding the Keeper’s expression. “Even now Amh Araeng sleeps beneath its first starlit night in a century.” 

He took as deep a breath as he was able, squinted against the light around the edges of his vision as he shakily rose to his feet. Motes of gold flowed lazily through the air more clearly than ever, and for the first time he could feel the particles as they passed through him, refreshing and  _ alive _ . Buoyed a little by the unexpected healthy sensation and Ardbert’s companionship, he took up the tin of polluted water in a fumbling grip and slowly made his way to the sink, where he sent the whole mess sluicing down the drain. And then washed out his mouth, scrubbed at his hands and arms some more, just for good measure. 

“Why don’t you get something to drink, you’ve been out a long time--it might help,” the warrior suggested cautiously, and Evi’a stopped scrubbing, wondering how long he’d been at it before Ardbert spoke up, his skin flushed and raw from his vigorous cleaning. At least the smell was mostly gone. Perhaps he needed the reminder anyway; he hadn’t realized how parched he was until the ghost had spoken up. His hands were shaking badly, and his ears pinned with frustration as he spilled half the water he meant to pour into his cup, but at least it only went in the sink. Self-consciously he flicked a glance back Ardbert’s direction, and was brought up short by the ghost’s quickly smoothed over expression of miserable helplessness as he sat in the bedside chair with his hands clasped in his lap. He took a calming breath, heart softening for the specter’s plight. Ardbert had once been a beloved hero whose only wish was to help people and do the right thing, and now he could not so much as give a glass of water to a friend in need. How terrible must it be for the man to have to endure such powerlessness, to have been forced to watch the world fade for a century as he roamed these blighted lands. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, once he’d drank one cup and refilled it, the cool water soothing his churning stomach. “For being here for me, for talking sense into me, and trying to get me to think for myself. I’ve appreciated your friendship, and wish I’d said so sooner.” 

“Well, can’t say as I’ve gotten you out of much trouble, from the look of things, but I’m glad if I was of any help, all the same,” the ghost said with an affected shrug, though Evi’a could feel that he was pleasantly surprised and abashed at the unexpected declaration. 

“Has...has the Exarch been here?” he dared to ask, after he’d finished off another glass of water. After the previous absorption he’d been thirstier than usual, but with this new addition he felt dry as the desert sands. It was as though he were imbibing the memory of water rather than the real thing. 

“He hasn’t, and I thought that was strange, considering, so I looked in when your companions met up with him, though perhaps I shouldn’t have done. If my intuition is correct, I’d say he feels terribly about what you’re going through...and not so well himself. What I could see of him was pale as a sheet. No doubt he needed to rest just as much as you did--and still do. You look like shite, pardon me saying.” 

Evi’a gave a pained chuff, raised a hand to press at his chest. So the absorption was affecting the Exarch as well via the bond. He remembered absolutely nothing of the fight, nor the journey back, but he could vaguely recall the caretaker’s presence solid and supportive against his soul as he’d descended into Malikah’s Well. Had the man stayed with him the whole time? Had he forced himself to experience the absorption alongside his chosen warrior? The Keeper’s tail thumped against the low cabinets in dismay. He wanted badly to see his dear one, to reassure him...but his stomach gave another painful lurch, and he winced against another wave of nausea and lightheadedness. 

Not yet. The third warden had never truly settled, but he had felt marginally better with time and rest. Perhaps it would be best to be sensible and lie down for a while, lest he embarrass himself and give the Exarch more cause for grief than he already had. Anyroad, it was highly likely that one of the twins would be in soon to check on him, and he’d rather they found him sleeping peacefully than forcing himself to wakefulness. 

As he made his way on trembling legs back to his bed, his eyes chanced to land on his violin case, and he remembered that he’d promised a performance at the Wandering Stairs, had even arranged for a few musicians to play with him. With a little concentration, he found he could remember the much practiced melody even in his pitiful state, and a tired smile tugged at his lips. At least that much, he would be able to deliver in the coming days, and having the presentation of this gift to look forward to lifted his spirits. He had any number of questions to ask, but they could wait. First, he would take care of himself. 

“I’ll be around, if you like,” Ardbert murmured, not quite looking at him as he carefully lowered himself into bed. 

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” he answered with great sincerity--then blinked as the linkpearl on his bedside table crackled to life. He hadn’t even registered that someone had removed it for him.

“Hello? Evi’a, you there? Is this blasted thing working?” came Cid’s staticky voice. 

“Yes, I’m here,” he replied with surprise, relieved when his voice came out relatively normal. “How did you...is everything well?” 

“Seven hells, we did it! Cross-rift--” Evi’a winced as the engineer’s voice broke into unintelligible garbled fizz, grateful that he wasn’t wearing the linkpearl after all--even at this distance the noise made him feel ill. 

“Bugger me, anyway, just a test. Can you hear me?” Cid asked.

“Yes,” he affirmed, fighting against his fading consciousness. He was aware enough to realize that this could be a very helpful development, and the last thing he wanted was to appear ungrateful. It was also nice that Cid did not know how bad off the Keeper was, and he would prefer it remained that way. 

“Just thinking, this might be--blast, going to lose it, will get to the point. Tested those rocks----and there---consider----if you lot disperse the light---nothing holding back---you might want--try later.” Evi’a stared as the poor connection broke, straining to fight back sickening exhaustion as he tried to make sense of what he’d heard. 

The frayed tendrils of his thoughts fell away as the cool sensation of a ghostly hand passed over his head. 

“For once, maybe better to think on this one later,” Ardbert granted with a slight nod, eyes crinkled in a gentle smile. Profoundly grateful, the Keeper let his head drop to the pillow and was asleep within a heartbeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story lives! I just got...distracted, and about the time I was ready to pick it up again 5.3 happened and just couldn't think about anything else for a while. In the hiatus though I've been able to sort quite a bit for this fic, and have more concrete plans to alternate posting this and my other WIPs such that this is updated regularly. Thank you to everyone who is still reading for your patience! 
> 
> The scene between G'raha and Emet has some dialogue pulled from the scene, because it's just too good...esp G'raha's detailing of who and what he believes himself to be. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	12. Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The absorption of a fourth warden is very nearly the breaking point, and Evi'a realizes that he won't be able to fight on in his current state unless drastic measures are taken. 
> 
> And the Tower speaks, in its own way.

His next wakening was far more gradual, the images of an extraordinary dream fading into flecks of gold that danced before his eyes as his sight adjusted to the dim light of his room. Someone had turned on a lamp next to his bed, and it cast a warm glow over where he lay. He turned his head just enough to distantly register that no one was seated in the chair at his bedside, then let his eyes drift back to the motes lazily swirling through the high ceiling. His ribs were so tight they felt they might crack, and so he kept still and grasped at the strands of what he’d Seen, expecting the memory to slide through the hazy grasp of his mind. 

But no, he could still hear that voice in his mind, clear as he was able to manage in his state. The man he’d dreamt, whose eyes he’d seen through, had the Exarch’s voice, the gentle cadence of his speech. There had been talk of searching for someone, of a world reaching its end… A flurry of gold drifted near as though with purpose, and weakly he reached his hand up, raising his eyebrows as little sparkles of life drifted through his palm. 

And suddenly, without a shadow of a doubt, he knew the man in his dream had been looking for him, and furthermore, that he was none other than G’raha Tia. 

But how could that be? 

He watched in wonder as the mote gave the barest of spins, then drifted higher to join the stream. 

_ “So that’s how you would speak to me, Ancient one?” _ he thought to himself, heart struggling to a higher pace as he tried to process the magnitude of what had just occurred. Feo Ul had been right, the Tower  _ did _ mean to speak to him. But what was he to do with this new, bewildering information? 

He’d felt it, when he was living G’raha Tia’s existence for that flash of a moment, all the desperate love and longing for the inspiration that he’d lost to the winds of time. The Keeper blinked back tears, chest twinging with the memory of that hope intermingled with sorrow. 

G’raha Tia had loved him, with all his heart and soul, and Evi’a didn’t remember anything of it. 

And yet, the Exarch had never made mention of such a journey, and had presented the story of the dying world as a vision seen by Urianger. But why? Had the Exarch lost some temporal battle with the rift when he’d summoned the Tower, and damaged his memories in the process? Had it rent their timeline and left the Keeper with wisps of half memories? Perhaps Xande had interfered? 

Or...had G’raha Tia not truly died before the Tower gates that day? He shuddered at the implications, but even if that were the case, it didn’t explain why the Exarch held such precious memories of them fighting Xande together. 

He sighed, kneaded his fingers against the sheets in a comforting motion as he realized that he was taking a great deal of speculation as truth, that he was believing what the Tower presented to him because he couldn’t help but believe. No doubt he was being worked upon in some fashion, and some healthy suspicion and reflection was in order...but he so deeply felt that the venerable Age was attempting to guide him in a helpful direction. 

A flickering in the ambient light drew him out of his troubled ponderings, and he watched as the door opened, expecting one of the twins. He was surprised however when it was Y’shtola who quietly entered, her skirts swishing as she gently closed the door behind her. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve been better,” he admitted croakily as she approached. “What time is it?” 

“Just after the eighth bell of the evening. You’ve been asleep for two days. Here, drink this,” she said, presenting him a cup of what smelled like broth. With some effort he pushed himself up to sit and accepted the offering, the fine grain of the earthenware mug soothing against his palms. He was so thirsty, but as soon as the liquid reached his stomach he felt ill. “Slowly,” she chastised. “Anyone would feel poorly going that long without food, much less carrying your burden.” He grimaced and labored to heed her advice, and after what felt an untoward amount of time managed to drink everything. He was still terribly thirsty, but his stomach roiled angrily, and he winced as she poured him some water. 

“My thanks,” he managed. “Perhaps I’ll have some in a moment.” 

“That’s fine, lie down,” she said, brisk but kind, and took a seat in the bedside chair. It was easy to follow such a simple command, and he readily complied, closing his eyes with a sigh as she reached up and began gently smoothing his ears back. He half-heartedly thought to protest, but the steady motion was so calming, and at this point, the greater part of him was profoundly grateful for the show of support and fondness. His mother had never done this for him, but his aunt had once, and the woman he’d thought of as his surrogate mother twice. As a child he’d desperately clung to those moments of simple physical affection...and he supposed as an adult, he hadn’t turned out much different. Sudden tears leaked free as he thought of what love his family had deigned to show, and with a whimper he rolled on his side toward her, too tired to be embarrassed. 

“Easy, you’re not alone,” she murmured. “We’re here with you.”

And so he lay there for a while and gave in to tears until he was spent, her hand gently massaging at the base of his ears as he came back to himself and quieted, humbled and pensive. 

How had the Exarch persevered for all these years, with no one to speak to of his woes, with no one to hold him or smooth his ears through what tears must certainly have fallen? How had the goodness and hope in his soul survived after a century of weathering such solitary hardship? 

Gods, how he loved that man, how he wanted to shower him with kindness and joy for the rest of his days, to see him emerge from this trial happy and free. 

“Ready to try some water?” Y’shtola whispered, and he nodded, scrubbing at his eyes as he pushed himself up once more. This time his nose was stuffed up in addition to his other woes, but his heart and his stomach had settled enough to let him drink in peace. It came to him that he was famished, and there was a smell on the air that was as a full meal in the making, rich and promising. Puzzled, he cast about for the scent’s source, and subconsciously his eyes settled on the petite woman at his bedside.

_ Aether _ , he realized with an internal cringe of disgust. It was aether that he was craving. 

“I took the liberty of placing extra layers of aetherial defense around myself and our companions on the way back from Amh Araeng, in case you were wondering. It seemed the apt thing to do.” So she did realize. What had he done that he didn’t remember? Perhaps it was better not to know for now.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and she nodded. 

“What are the symptoms this time?” the mage asked briskly, the brief twitch of her eyebrows the only tell of discomfort she gave as she reached steady hands out to take the measure of his aether. He nodded and dropped his own defenses as best as he was able, grateful that she was moving on without further comment. 

“...There’s hard pressure against my ribs. It’s difficult to breathe. There’s other bits, but that’s the worst,” he outlined, the prolonged words an effort that left him gasping. He could feel her changing the nature of her delving, and she hissed at whatever she found. 

“I should think so,” she said with concern, eyes narrowing. “I need to shift your aether, if you don’t mind. It will be uncomfortable.” 

“If it stands any chance of helping I should be glad to allow you to try,” he said resolutely, then closed his eyes and willed himself still as her presence flooded what nooks and crannies remained to his aetherial form. His breathing closed off entirely, and he tensed, viciously willing away instinctive panic as she attempted to disentangle and compress the wardens’ parasitic presence. 

And then the tendrils of her interference withdrew, and he shuddered as welcome air filled his burning lungs. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a grimace, herself breathless from her task. “I couldn’t remain any longer without injury; the aspected Light is far too condensed for my abilities to defray.” 

“That’s okay, my thanks for trying,” he whispered, subconsciously rubbing at his aching ribs. She pressed her fingers to her lips, studied him thoughtfully before looking away. 

“There is...another method I have considered to attempt, but there are lasting repercussions. How much do you favor being a red mage?” she asked, looking back to him with a grim expression. 

“Er...I’ve studied for years, and it’s a comfort to be able to heal on the spot...and there’s sentimental value as well,” he admitted, thinking of his old friend S’ahfha Tia, without whom he never would have survived to become the Warrior of Light. “Why do you ask?” 

“It’s a last resort, but I can punch holes in your aetherial field. It should alleviate the pressure, but your skills as a mage would be severely blunted until you mend naturally...which is unlikely to occur so long as you’re hosting wardens.” He swallowed and stared at her for a moment, then looked to his hands. “I suppose the greater question,” she added gently, “is are you able to fight like this, and if not, are you willing to give up your magical abilities to continue?” 

“It sounds like I’ll have to,” he said heavily. “I’d never be able to live with myself otherwise. It...it  _ will _ mend eventually, won’t it? If I’m not carrying the wardens.” She looked to him with pained sympathy. 

“In theory it should, but I give no promises. I don’t make this offer lightly, but see no other course. That said, you’re close with the Exarch, perhaps he has a better suggestion.” 

“I don’t think so,” Evi’a said with a sad half smile. “Believe me, he knows my condition more than anyone, and if he could have done something about this he would have, I’m sure of it. Is there any danger the wardens will escape if you do this?” 

“Not based on what I’ve observed so far, when I’ve performed this on the Night’s Blessed who’ve been turned. Granted their situation is not the same as yours, but it did slow the conversion a bit. You’re already radiating warden aether, so this shouldn’t change much.”

“Am I?” he asked, clenching his teeth with distaste. “Well, can’t say as I’m surprised.” He could read between the lines enough to understand that this was a procedure typically reserved to give the dying some measure of comfort...but he was not dying, and his condition was self inflicted. As he was he would never be able to fight, much less absorb a final warden. At least what she offered was a chance, and if he lost the bulk of his magic but saved two worlds and freed the Exarch of his burdens, it would be worth it. And his companions would be with him...he would just have to leave the healing in their more than capable hands from now on. 

“Do it,” he said decisively, ears pricked and eyes fierce. “I’m a fine bard, I’ll manage.”

“That’s the spirit,” she murmured with a smile, though sadness touched her eyes. “You’ll have to let me put you to sleep for this.” 

“Not a problem,” he answered, moving to lie back down, managing his fear as well as he could. 

The last thing he saw as her hand reached out to touch his forehead was Ardbert’s pained smile over her shoulder, and his hand reaching out in tandem with hers. 

When he woke again she was yet sitting by his bed, pale and worn from her efforts. This time he felt unexpectedly alert, as though no time had passed, though that clearly was not the case from her condition. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, and he took a moment to take stock of himself, and hope surged in his heart as he found he was breathing naturally, that his ribs no longer felt crowded from within. His vision remained white around the edges, and he was sore, but these small discomforts he could handle. 

“Much better,” he said earnestly, eying her with concern. “How are you faring?”

“Exhausted, but well enough. You’ll forgive me if I don’t linger,” she said wryly, pushing herself up to stand and swaying with the effort. “I don’t mean to be insensitive…” she added with an uncharacteristic waver to her voice, bracing herself against the chair. 

“No...I understand. You’d said before that it was difficult to look at me, I can’t imagine what it’s like now.”

“It’s good to see you feeling improved,” she said with a weak smile, then straightened and dusted off her skirts in a subconscious cleansing motion. 

He couldn’t blame her.

“I’ll check on you later in the night, once I’ve rested. Do call me however if you begin to feel poorly.” 

“Thank you, I will,” he promised, and after silently refilling his cup with broth, she took her leave. He watched as the door closed, the loss of her presence briefly clouding his mood more than just his instinctive hunger for aether. What it must have cost her, emotionally and physically, to perform this favor for him he could not say, but he would not squander her gift. 

With her away, he tentatively reached out to prod at his own aetherial well, and his ears drooped to find it colorless, stale, and flat. Experimentally he attempted a Vercure, but the base of the spell was as sludge in his grasp, and after a moment he gave up. It wouldn’t do to hurt himself, after all. At least he had enough wherewithal to teleport if needed; there was still some capability left to him. It would have to be enough. 

“Don’t push yourself, she did quite a number on you,” Ardbert said from where he stood leaning against the kitchen counter. There was a time Evi’a might have been surprised, but these days he just expected the warrior’s presence. 

“What did you do?” Evi’a asked, blinking despite himself against the brightness of his vision. “You reached out when she did.” The ghost gave a quirk of a smile, then looked away. 

“Did Minfilia say anything before she disappeared? About...about why she meant me to stay behind,” he asked instead, eyes distant. Evi’a’s fingers curled instinctively into the blankets, pained regret swelling in his heart. He’d meant to ask on Ardbert’s behalf, he’d meant to ask for some word of assurance to grant Thancred a modicum of peace...he’d meant to say so much when Ryne brought her forth...But when she appeared, all of his intentions slipped away, and in the bright golden light of her summoning he knew the moment belonged to Ryne and Ryne alone; and all he could do was to stand by and bear witness to their joint decision. 

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Ardbert sighed, pushing off the counter. “I suppose I’ll never find why I’ve been consigned to this purgatory.”

“She did say…” Evi’a began, then swallowed. Was it hubris to think that perhaps Ardbert had been left behind to support him? Given that he was the only one who could see the ghost, however, and Minfilia’s words, he was beginning to suspect that this might be the right of it. 

How many had suffered, for how long, just to see that he made it to the First and completed this singular task? 

“She said that no hero stands alone,” he continued in a firmer voice. If Ardbert was indeed present to guide him, the Keeper was also capable of being supportive. So far he’d done a miserable job of that and had leaned heavily on the warrior, but better late than never, even if there wasn’t much he could truly do. “I wouldn’t be here without your counsel, and your timely advice. Your friendship has been dearly appreciated.” The ghost looked to him in surprise, offered a flicker of an abashed smile. 

“You don’t reckon she meant...no,” Ardbert said, expression darkening as he reconsidered his words. “No, there’s only one hero in this room, and it’s not me.” Evi’a winced and looked to his hands with frustration, trying to coax his hazed mind to piece together what he could say that might get through to the warrior. He was so very tired, and his echo lent no aid when it came to specters. 

“You’re-” he started, then halted as he realized that the warrior was nowhere to be seen.  _ That could have gone better _ , he thought dismally, but he was confident that Ardbert would return in his own time. He still didn’t know what precisely the ghost had done for him along with Y’shtola’s procedure, but he couldn’t think Ardbert would harm him.

He would just have to wait and see in due time. 

Suddenly his head gave a dull throb and his vision went bright, and he tensed against the expectation of further pain and ill omens...but the sensation was not nearly as uncomfortable as usual. When the future echo came, he was surprised to See the Exarch making his way toward his chambers, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet after knocking on the door. 

And then the vision was gone, leaving Evi’a to smile in bemusement. Normally his visions were of a more dire nature, but perhaps between his condition and the Tower’s interference, his innate abilities were acting up. Either way, the knowledge that he would soon finally be able to see his dear one was extremely soothing after so much physical and emotional duress. Just for good measure he sent along a wave of welcome, which was met with hesitant, restrained hope. He winced as he remembered how he’d recoiled from the Exarch’s initial contact upon his return, the dismay he’d felt before the rudimentary walls went back up. And Ardbert had said the caretaker appeared ill… He sent along another chord of gentle reassurance and received a complex hum of emotion in return--relief, guilt, grief, and tentative, fragile joy. 

Well, if the Exarch was going to come visit him, the least he could do was bathe before the man arrived. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a bath, and perhaps the gentle scent of the soap would mask the parched, acrid smell of sin eater. 

Far above in the Tower garden, the Exarch also sat with his legs over the side of the bed, digging his fingers into the mattress as he pondered what to do, shamed that he had yet to visit his beloved Warrior since the bard’s return. 

Having borne the experience of the absorption alongside Evi’a and suffered the muted horror of what he’d asked of his beloved, he found himself...muddled, for lack of a better descriptor. It was all he could do to get through the trade meetings, to organize the yearly survey into Lakeland to determine sustainability. Several times Lyna had to reach out to steady him, and on the second day after the deed was done, Katliss beckoned him to the side and gently inquired as to whether or not he would like to retire to the Tower to rest. He rallied on with characteristic stubbornness, but also knew when he was beat. If the people were beginning to notice, he would have to swallow his pride and cancel his affairs for the next few days.

What a fool he’d been to believe that by weathering the absorption together he would somehow pull some of the burden from his love. Instead he’d placed himself in a dangerous position, and by extension the Keeper, as he was too out of sorts to provide the aid he might have if he’d endeavored more diligently to form a healthy barrier between them. 

Such did he berate himself as he struggled and grasped for a return to even, undisturbed thought. Somewhere in the fog he managed to manifest the makeshift walls he’d arranged previously so that their emotions would not constantly bleed into one another, which resulted in some improvement. Yet when he tried to reach out to the bard he found his love skittish and under considerable duress, the exact nature of which he surprisingly could not pinpoint. There was an  _ otherness _ about their connection, something that clouded his ability to ascertain his bonded’s condition. Were it Evi’a finally managing to build his own walls, the caretaker would not have minded, but this foreign, Light-riddled interference in his warrior’s very soul was terrifying. 

He’d wanted to go to Evi’a right then, but a low note in the undertones of the bard’s apology suggested that he needed time to compose himself, and the Exarch could respect that, though it didn’t stop him pacing circles in the Umbilicus, and later in the Tower gardens. Over the next couple of days he anxiously tested at their connection only to find heated, tight static as Evi’a slept off the initial agony of his absorption, and when he dared reach a bit further he found one of the Scions was always at the Keeper’s side. For which he was thankful, truly, but he could not force himself to show his face when the bard had so clearly requested the Exarch leave him alone, and yet still allowed his traveling companions near. 

The exclusion was a painful, dull weight in his chest, but he deserved it and he knew it. There was nothing for it but to wait until Evi’a felt ready to see him...if he ever did. At least Alisaie was kind enough to come unbidden to the Ocular daily and report on her dear adoptive brother’s condition. She was also insistent that Evi’a would not mind if he came and sat by the bedside, but he knew better. It was good of her to think of him though, especially considering that half of his conversations with her tended to go awry one way or the other.

And then, just when he’d worked up the courage to perhaps just peek in anyway just to be sure the Keeper was safe, there was the abrupt, rending sensation of  _ holes _ being torn in his love’s aethereal composition.

For a brief, horrifying moment that had him sinking to his knees, he thought the bard had lost his battle to contain the wardens within. With some tremulous investigation he found that the rifts were being procedurally incised, and a little further prodding revealed none other than Y’shtola doing so. When at least he was able to wrangle his sickened bewilderment, he realized what she was attempting.

For a long while all he could do was sit on the floor of the Umbilicus with his head in his hands as she skillfully worked, observing from a safe distance as his beloved had his treasured red magic whittled to nothing. Gods, how he wished he might just shrink into himself and expire, for all the suffering he’d caused, for all that was yet to come. 

But no, he reminded himself, he’d had enough of this.

Tail lashing angrily, he’d forced himself to stand, to stop cowering on the floor at the heartrending consequences of his actions and meet Evi’a’s bravery with his own. Clearly the Keeper was determined to fight, and the caretaker could not succumb to guilt and grief now, owed it to his warrior to hold his head high and be equally fierce. When Evi’a woke and felt better, he would go and knock on the Keeper’s door, and even if he was not granted entrance, he could convey love and unyielding support from outside, could show by his presence that he cared and would not falter. 

He had just not expected to go so soon, and especially not to be practically summoned with gentle welcome. 

And now here he was sat on his garden bed, thrown off and fidgeting as the Keeper showered and brewed tea, somehow already on his feet after such a harrowing procedure. Part of him wondered if Evi’a was well, if he were in some state of shock. It would not be surprising. Aside from this uncomfortable concern, he was beginning to wonder...had he perhaps misread the situation? It took no delving whatsoever to realize that Evi’a was eagerly waiting for him to make his appearance. He eyed the chronometer near his bed, strongly suspecting that the Keeper had no idea that it was nearly three bells past midnight. 

_ Well _ , he thought, finally pushing himself to stand,  _ there’s no point dallying here.  _ He’d already decided in his heart to pay his beloved a visit, and he’d had enough agonizing. 

His resolution didn’t keep the butterflies from dancing in his stomach as he approached the bard’s door a few minutes later, nor his heart from racing. He was inclined to think that Evi’a should be upset with him, but as the distance between them closed the bond’s soft, glowing insistence that his inspiration loved him began to float to the foreground of his consciousness. Uncertain as to what to expect, he rapped on the door as soon as he reached it so that his courage might not desert him. Even so, he couldn’t help shifting and bouncing in place with gut-churning nerves as he waited for a reply. There was a bubbling of amusement over the bond that had him freezing with embarrassment--could Evi’a  _ see _ him through the walls now?--but he had no time to speculate as the door opened and he hastened to take a self assured stance. 

There was no mistaking the wave of joy that washed over their connection, the smile wobbling on the Keeper’s lips as he stepped into view, the gentle shine of love in his eyes.The Exarch took a breath to speak but the words died in his throat as he was overcome by such unexpected adoration at this proximity juxtaposed against the burnt scent of sin eater mingling with his beloved’s natural musk. Evi’a’s skin was several shades lighter as well, a deep, stormy grey compared to the near ink-black he’d been before. There was an odd, off-putting familiarity to seeing him like this, and the caretaker tensed against a swoop of vertigo that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bard, was distantly aware that Evi’a was also restraining his reaction, though to what end the Exarch was too flustered to sort. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, stifling the urge to wince as soon as the foolish words left his mouth. Sweet Azeyma, he was supposed to be a leader and a diplomat. 

To his credit Evi’a kept what incredulity he must have felt to himself.

“I’m as alright as I can be,” he said with hoarse affability, his smile as he leaned against the doorframe so soft that the Exarch nearly crossed the threshold into his arms right then. Evi’a’s tail swished a lazy metronome, and oh, how he wanted to at least reach out and run his fingers through that thick fur. 

“I know only...only too well the suffering you have gone through on our behalf, and I have no right to impose upon you further--”

“Come now, we spoke about this,” Evi’a murmured over him. “I’ve taken this path willingly, and I’ve made my feelings very clear. In fact, I’m fairly certain you know quite well how and what I feel right now.” 

The breath left him in a puff, and before he knew what he was doing he was leaning forward, the threadbare strands of his restraint fraying at the beckoning joy in his love’s eyes, despite everything. 

“Do you want to come in?” the Keeper whispered.

“Mm,” he breathed, moving even as he spoke. The moment the door clicked shut he was in his beloved’s arms, his right ear pressed against a blessed, defiant heartbeat. For a long moment they just let themselves  _ be _ , drank in the precious closeness and the respite from the bond’s constant, insistent pull. Little by little he realized he could smell the comfortingly familiar citrus and ginger of the Keeper’s soap, the natural sun-warmed wood scent of his aether still discernible amidst the aura of sin eater. He frowned as he realized that the bard was unnaturally hot against him, and before he could think twice he reached up a hand and pressed it against his love’s forehead.

The greyed skin there was burning to the touch.

“Perhaps I’m still recovering from this one, it seems to take longer every time,” the Keeper said quietly in response to the Exarch’s obvious dismay. He took a breath between parted lips as Evi’a took his hand and gently moved it from his forehead to his equally heated cheek, canting his head into the touch as silvery lashes fluttered closed. “I’ve missed you very much,” he murmured, and the mage couldn’t help but lean against him once more, wrap his free arm gently around his inspiration’s waist. 

“I’ve missed you as well,” he choked, daring to bury his head in the man’s shoulder. His old fears loomed in the back of his mind--that the Tower might be working on Evi’a, that this wasn’t  _ real _ , that he’d made some kind of terrible temporal mistake--but he drove his insecurities away as well as he might. Regardless of the reasons or the whithers and wherefores, this was the truth of their present existence, a reality that they’d both suffered extreme hardship to reach. They were so close to realizing their goal, the two of them under mutual considerable duress.

He could no longer present his tedious anxieties to the Keeper. Or at least, not right now, with him in this state. They  _ needed _ this intimacy, and he wasn’t sure if his emotional captitulation was more because he was no longer capable of fighting against his own desires or if he’d decided that this was the best course of action. He wasn’t entirely in his right mind himself these days, and even more so after his ill advised decision to experience an absorption. Either way, what had been set in motion by the survivors of the 8th Umbral Calamity could no longer be stopped, and there was a certain freedom to be found in finally allowing himself to be swept along on the currents of their joint devices. 

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked at length, leaning back from their embrace. At this point there was little to nothing he could do for the Keeper’s symptoms, but at least he could offer the comfort of food and companionship. Evi’a made a less than enthusiastic face.

“Some broth, earlier. It didn’t sit particularly well.” 

“You’ve got to eat, it’s been days,” he chastised gently. “Perhaps some fruit?”

The Keeper sighed and nodded. 

“I know, I’m just going to worry everyone at this rate,” he said, moving away toward the cupboard. The Exarch dared to reach out and catch the hem of his navy pajama shirt, and the bard looked back questioningly, tail giving a shy flick.

“Let me,” he murmured.  _ Please, let me do this much for you.  _ Evi’a looked as though he might protest, then gave a little smile and nodded instead, moving slowly to take a seat at the table. Ears perked slightly under his hood at the acquiescence, the caretaker began to rummage through the cupboard for something mild that wouldn’t turn his love’s stomach overmuch. Evi’a was quiet behind him, and to his surprise he didn’t find himself anxious to speak. There was so much that could be said, possibly that should be, but for now, the steady flow of emotion between them was enough, the relief golden and dear. 

At last he produced a few firm yellow apples and set to spiral peeling them, looking back ever so often to check that Evi’a was well...but perhaps more so just to look at him. A sudden curious jolt echoed over their connection, and this time when he turned the Keeper’s eyes were distant, yet clearly tracking  _ something  _ across the room.

“Visions?” he asked, returning to his work as casually as he might. Evi’a had been very clear that he didn’t want his echo blocked in any manner, and without those protections he would almost certainly see the Tower specters from time to time...possibly now even more so. Still, as disconcerting as they were it was nothing to be truly concerned about, and he’d learned for himself early on not to react in front of others lest he be incessantly fussed over. 

“There’s a figure wearing enough flowy robes to pitch a tent with, I daresay,” Evi’a mused. 

“Tall fellow, mummer’s masque and ill-favored staff?”

“Aye, sounds about right.”

“That would be Amon,” he answered, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Amon was an unsavory figure to say the least, but he’d been seeing the archmage for as long as he could remember, and the wraith sometimes felt like a touchstone of familiarity with a world he’d lost long ago. 

“Can you see him as well?” Evi’a asked, and the Exarch lifted his own protections for just long enough to see the last of the mage’s layered robes flutter through the door. 

“Yes, it seems he’s just left to pace elsewhere,” he said. “Are the visions bothering you?”

Evi’a tilted his head uncertainly. 

“I thought I had this sorted, perhaps the absorptions are causing deviations in my aether. Or—Sweet Menphina!” he exclaimed, bolting up straight in his chair. “I...I let Y’shtola...are you…”

“I’m well, I distanced myself during the procedure,” he said soothingly, Evi’a’s stricken expression physically knifing through his heart. “You didn’t cause me any harm, pray don’t worry.”

The Keeper stared at him, then buried his face in his hands. 

“I didn’t think, I just wanted to...I thought…I’m beyond relieved that you’re well, but all the same, I’m so sorry,” he worked out between his fingers. Unable to take his love’s self recrimination any longer, the Exarch picked up the plate with what apple slices he’d finished and made his way over to the table. He froze for a moment as he considered where to sit, then summoned his courage and took a seat on the bench close to his inspiration’s side, setting the crockery down quietly. 

“My dear one,” he said, daring to offer a surreptitious bunt to the bard’s shoulder, “I’m well, I promise. It could have gone badly, but it didn’t, and frankly there are a whole host of urgent concerns already vying for your attention...try not to burden yourself further by fretting about that which did not come to pass.” 

“You’re right,” the Keeper said, scrubbing at his face. “I know you’re right. Thank you.” The Exarch watched as he took an apple slice with a shaky hand and nibbled on it with some effort. “How about these black draped figures with the masks, what are they?” he asked, flicking an ear toward the kitchenette. 

“Draped figures?” he wondered, dropping his walls again to have a look. 

He couldn’t see anything, and uncomfortably said as much, releasing his tail from around his waist to flick with agitation beneath the entrapment of his robes. Evi’a looked to him with a thoughtful frown. 

“Truly? That’s odd, I would have thought you’d be able to--well, unless it’s just me, I suppose.”

“It could be that the Tower shows different images to different souls. Granted, to my knowledge it never has, but you do seem to have a resonance with the crystal. Even in my position as caretaker, I fear my understanding of the Tower is...incomplete.” 

“Do you…” Evi’a trailed off, eyes scrunching as he brought a hand to his forehead. “Not this time,” he grumbled, ears flat and expression set with intense concentration.

“Are you-” he began to ask with alarm, just as the Keeper spoke over him,

“Can you see the rifts?” 

“Rifts?”

“Over Lakeland!” Evi’a exclaimed, as though the question were very urgent.

“I...I’m not sure what you mean…” he said anxiously, half standing as the tension drained out of the Keeper’s shoulders and he leaned forward to rest his head on the table. 

“There was something else but...I don’t...the Tower is...I can’t remember what it was,” Evi’a growled with frustration. The caretaker sank back into his seat, heart racing from the scare. 

“There are rifts over Lakeland?” he asked carefully, not wanting to upset the Keeper more, trying desperately to keep his own dread under control. “Does...has anyone else chanced to see them?” 

“Y’shtola. The pixies. You can ask Feo Ul, if the Tower will allow,” Evi’a murmured, turning his head to look to the Exarch wearily. 

“You believe the Tower is...is stopping you…” he trailed off, suddenly confused. Why was it so difficult to ask this question? Quickly he reached into one of his voluminous pockets and produced a scrap torn from his research, frantically searching with the other hand for the Allag quill he kept for just such urgent notes. For a moment as he stared at the blank paper he couldn’t remember what he got them out for, then happened to catch at a strand of thought. 

_ There are rifts over Lakeland,  _ he scrawled.  _ Feo Ul.  _ And then his train of thought was gone, but not the foreboding that had accompanied it. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew with certainty that the Tower was also compelling him. He let the quill drop and stared at the words, an odd sort of emptiness stealing over his soul. 

What else didn’t he remember? What more was he not allowed to comprehend? Had he unknowingly inflicted some manner of grave danger on the First? 

He started as strong arms wrapped around him and he was pulled in close. 

“Let’s get through this together as best as we may,” Evi’a murmured, nuzzling at his ears through his hood. He swallowed and nodded, bunted up into the touch even as he fought down the rising sharp edges of a panic episode. He’d never been overwhelmed in front of another, and he damn well didn’t mean to start now. Even so, to be held like this when he’d meant to be the one offering comfort, to be here in the arms of his beloved whom he’d pulled into this fray, for reasons that it just might be possible that he was unwittingly misrepresenting...What had he done? Had everything happened as he believed, or…? 

“Easy, easy,” Evi’a whispered against the top of his hood, one hand moving up to rub at his back. “We’re both exhausted, and whatever this issue is, we’re not going to solve it tonight.”

“I know,” he whispered back, reminding himself once more that this was meant to be a joint effort, that he wasn’t alone anymore. His heart only half accepted his internal attempts at comfort, but it was good to have Evi’a’s strong pulse against his cheek, and he measured his breath against that steady rhythm until he settled. There was a long, calming quiet, a mutual request leavening within their connection, too fragile for words, the sound of flowing water on the wind. 

_ Stay with me _ .

As he’d been meaning to do, as he’d agonized and pondered over in the days of Evi’a’s most recent absence, he reached up and curled his fingers into his hood, fully meaning to take it down and finally show his face to the one he loved. 

He couldn’t do it. 

He couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t his own fear stopping him, but...something like instinct, an inclination that if he did as he wished, there would be consequences far more severe than what he reckoned for. Was this predilection toward caution also the Tower’s doing? 

“It’s okay if you’re still not ready,” Evi’a said softly, and he frowned. No, it wasn’t that, he was ready...but he couldn’t bear to correct his love’s assumption at the moment and risk more talk of the Tower--he didn’t think his heart could take it. Instead he merely nodded, allowed his hands to drop in defeat and disappointment. How he’d so longed for this moment, to truly look into the bard’s eyes for the first time, to show his love and support, to cease this infernal hiding. But he had waited this long, and he could wait some more. 

“Actually, if you’d like to cast that blinding spell, I won’t say no,” Evi’a said ruefully. “Everything’s so bright lately...a little darkness would be quite welcome.” 

A quarter bell later he did as Evi’a asked, carefully setting the enchantment in place as he slid into bed next to the Keeper in his simple black shift, ears happily freed to twitch against Evi’a’s dry lips. His beloved was hot to the touch, but he welcomed the warmth, the heat that proved his inspiration yet lived. After a few moments of shifting he took the upper hand, guiding those soft white ears beneath his chin, heart clenching at the Keeper’s surge of open vulnerability in the bond. Few were the times in his life that he’d been held like this, ever the hero, ever protecting others. 

“I have you,” the caretaker whispered, reaching up to smooth those silken ears as heated breaths puffed tremulously against his neck. “Go to sleep.”

“I...I’ve b’n ill, lately. I might...if I’m in the night, I ’pologize in advance,” the bard said faintly, speech already slurring with sleep. 

“You don’t have to apologize. Rest,” he urged, freeing his own tail enough to drape over Evi’a’s waist in a simple miqo’te indication of tenderness. 

“Mm,” came the hummed reply as his inspiration pressed closer, offering a last sleepy nuzzle under his chin.

“That’s better,” he encouraged, sweeping back a stray lock of silvery hair as the bard’s breath slowed and evened. And then, so soft he almost thought he imagined it, there was a plaintive whisper of a dream-spoken word brushed against his neck. 

“Raha…?” 

He clenched his teeth as tears slipped free and fell into the bard’s hair. 

“Yes,” he choked, pressing his face against that crown of mussed, soft silver, breathing in the scents of pitch and ginger, of burning wood. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting...work was tough so this is a week later than intended ;; Thanks for reading so far, and if you enjoyed, comments and kudos are writer fuel and always much appreciated! 
> 
> If you wanna you can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens <3


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